


Super Human Interdisciplinary Early Learning Daycare (SHIELD)

by celtic7irish



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adult Bucky, Adult Darcy is probably not a good plan, Adult Steve, Because cell phones were not a thing post WWII, Bucky is still a soldier, But unspecified war, Cuddles, Gen, Happy Ending, Implied Child Abuse, Implied Spousal Abuse, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death, Stane will always be a bad guy, Toddler Maria, Toddler Natasha, Toddler Pepper, Toddler Phil, Toddler Rhodey, Toddler Tony, Vague mentions of wartime, toddler Clint, toddler Thor, toddler loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 36,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8814019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celtic7irish/pseuds/celtic7irish
Summary: Bucky's working at SHIELD - the daycare, not the agency.  With the help of his partner, Darcy, he's in charge of a whole bunch of little hellions.  What adventures await at the Super Human Interdisciplinary Early Learning Daycare?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InvisbleDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvisbleDragon/gifts).



> Since somebody felt that I was misleading them with the tags (the term click bait was used), I will say this here: Steve/Sam is not, nor will it be, the main pairing in this fic. This is about Bucky and Tony. However, Steve/Sam is mentioned, along with the other pairings listed in the tags. So if you came here looking for Steve/Sam, please consider yourself warned and try not to be disappointed.

The first time Bucky Barnes met the young Stark heir was three days into the new school year. The child had been enrolled in Super Human Interdisciplinary Early Learning Daycare (SHIELD for short), the childcare center Bucky worked (as of a week ago), but he had been absent, apparently due to illness.  The scowling little boy didn’t look sick now, as he glared up at the tall man whose hand he was clutching tightly in the doorway of the large playroom.  “Do I have to, Mister Jarvis?” he complained, his speech quite advanced for a four year old.

 

Bucky waited a moment to see what the man – not the boy’s father, he realized – was going to do. The elderly gentleman knelt down so that he was eye-level with the wary pre-schooler.  “Master Anthony,” he intoned, his voice colored with affection, “you don’t have to if you really don’t want to, but I think you should give it a try.  There are other children here for you to play with, and I’m sure you’ll make some friends.”

 

Tony Stark’s mouth tightened as he shook his head. “I don’t wanna make friends!” he insisted, moving closer to the other man and deliberately not looking at the children who were watching the byplay curiously.

 

Bucky stepped forward, leaving Darcy to distract the other kids from the newcomers. He crouched down and held out his flesh hand to Tony.  “Hello,” he greeted evenly, keeping his voice calm, “my name is Bucky.  And you must be Anthony.”

 

Brown eyes narrowed at him. “Tony,” the four-year-old insisted stubbornly.  “Only Mister Jarvis and Miss Anna can call me Anthony!”  There was a short pause.  “And Aunt Peggy,” he tacked on.  Bucky fought the urge to grin; this child was guaranteed to be a handful.

 

“Tony,” he agreed easily. “Is there a reason that you don’t want to make friends?” he asked.

 

“Friends are stupid,” Tony fairly spat, shifting so that he was mostly hidden from view by Jarvis’ body. “Dad says so.  And these are all babies!” he insisted, a tiny hand sweeping out and nearly clipping both Bucky and Jarvis.  Bucky wished he could place the name, but it escaped him at the moment.

 

“Master Anthony,” Jarvis said, his tone firm now. The child fell silent, his gaze locked on the older man.  “You must learn to get along with children your own age.  It’s not good for you to spend all day indoors.  I promise you’ll be safe here, and you might even make some friends, whether you want to or not.”  He paused, then gave the child a mournful look. It was surprisingly effective.  “Won’t you at least try for me, sir?” he asked softly.

 

Tony hesitated, his eyes darting towards Bucky before he looked back at Jarvis. “Okay,” he agreed grudgingly.  “But only one day!” he bargained.

 

Jarvis smiled kindly. “One week,” he suggested.  Tony scowled, and Jarvis’ smile widened.  “One week, and we’ll invite Miss Carter over for supper,” he added.

 

Tony’s eyes widened. “Okay!” he agreed, holding out his hand.  Jarvis shook on the deal solemnly, then rose fluidly to his feet.  Bucky stood with him.

 

“I apologize, sir,” Jarvis offered with a faint flush. “The young master has only adults for companionship most of the time, and is rather less socialized for it, I’m afraid.”

 

Bucky smiled, turning up the charm. “It’s all right, Mr. Jarvis,” he replied readily.  “Many of these children come here from single-child households.  They adjust.  Children are remarkably adaptable.”

 

“This child is more likely to make everybody else adapt to him,” Jarvis said wryly. He looked down at the young boy, who was watching the two adults talk with a bored expression.  “Young master Anthony, perhaps you would care to see what the other children are up to?” he suggested.

 

Tony looked at the other children, then looked at Jarvis, and shrugged. “’Kay,” he mumbled, releasing Jarvis’ hand and making his way over to the other children, dragging his feet.  Jarvis sighed.

 

“I had hoped that the opportunity to be with children his own age might be something he’d enjoy,” the man murmured softly.

 

Bucky shook his head. “This is a new environment for him,” he reassured the other man.  “But it’s early enough that the other children should accept him easily.  After pelting him with all sorts of questions, I’m sure,” he added.  Jarvis shifted uneasily on his feet, and Bucky sighed internally.  Jarvis might not be Tony Stark’s biological father, but he was showing all the signs of a concerned parent releasing their child into another’s care for the first time ever.  “He’s in good hands, Mr. Jarvis.  I’m sure you have other things you need to be doing, and it’ll be easier for him to settle in if you’re not hovering.”  He was careful to keep his tone even, not wanting to offend the other man.

 

Jarvis nodded, but still seemed uncertain. He watched Tony – who was now ordering the children gathered around the table to make room for him – with a sort of resignation.  “I understand,” he agreed.  He met Bucky’s eyes.  “Mister Stark researched this place very thoroughly,” he said.  “I hope you understand what it means to have his only son in your care.”

 

Like Bucky’s boss would let him forget. “Stark put up a lot of money for us to take his brat in and beef up security,” the Director had told him.  “Don’t fuck it up.”  He had made it quite clear that Bucky’s continuing presence at SHIELD was dependent solely upon his ability to handle a bunch of rowdy children without losing anyone to adventure. Or kidnapping.  With this group one never knew.

 

“Tony will be perfectly safe here,” he assured the concerned gentleman. “He’s amongst friends.”  Bucky’s smile very carefully didn’t waver as a squabble broke out behind him – Loki and Thor, no doubt.  The two brothers couldn’t seem to agree on anything.

 

Jarvis looked uncertain, but nonetheless nodded and left after one last look towards Tony, who was now seated and fielding questions from the other children. His mouth was clamped tightly shut as he stared mutinously at the table.  Bucky found himself surprised; he had expected the child of Howard Stark to be more outgoing, charming like his father.  Instead, he found himself with a moody, antisocial four year old.

 

“All right, you all, that’s enough,” Darcy said, brandishing a box of animal crackers like a weapon. “Who wants a snack?”  Never mind that snack time wasn’t for another hour.

 

Bucky sighed and moved to help Darcy run herd on the children as Thor and Loki got into an argument regarding whether the lions or elephants were better, and Virginia threatened to smack them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> InvisbleDragon: I apologize that this is as of yet incomplete. I will have it finished as soon as possible, but what I was hoping would be only 3-4 chapters has turned into a monster and run away. I do hope that you enjoy the fic as you read it!


	2. Chapter 2

The children were down for a nap, and Bucky was taking a few minutes to just breathe before he set about preparing for the afternoon activities. His shoulder twinged, his left arm making a faint clicking noise as it recalibrated.  Bucky grimaced; the prosthetic was a marvel of modern engineering, but it still ached fiercely on occasion.

 

“So…that was fun,” Darcy drawled, pulling a chair around and straddling it backwards, her arms braced across the back as she grinned at him. “I mean, I knew the Stark kid would be something else, but did you know he can do advanced math _in his head_? I kind of want to ask him to help me with my homework,” she admitted.

 

Bucky glared at his partner. “Lewis, you will not ask a four year old to help you with your college homework.”  She grinned back at him unrepentantly, and Bucky rubbed at his eyes tiredly. 

 

“Why did I agree to this again?” he grumbled, not really expecting an answer. He should’ve known better; Darcy couldn’t resist an opening like that.

 

“Uh, because you’re a retired vet with a deep-seated hatred for all forms of authority and a love of little children?” she retorted cheekily. She wasn’t terribly far off.  After the war, Bucky had returned home a broken man, missing one arm and with enough traumatic memories to fill a reservoir.  His therapist had pushed him to find something new to protect, a new reason to get up in the morning.  And he had found it, in the children’s ward at the local hospital, of all places.  Surrounded by children who were ravished by cancer or muscular dystrophy, or any number of genetic defects, injuries, or illnesses that were slowly killing them, he had realized that his own problems were insignificant in comparison.

 

And the worst part? The children were, for the most part, happy to have his company. Even as they retched from harsh chemical treatments, or ached from physical therapy, they looked up at him and smiled.  And so, Bucky had started entertaining them.  Nothing expensive – his military pay was barely enough for him to live on, much less to allow him something as luxurious as spending cash – but he’d bring in balloons and twist them into fun shapes, or tell the children stories from the war (only the funny ones, never anything that touched on his capture or his time as a prisoner of war, and certainly nothing about the loss of his left arm, and that near-fatal fall from the train).  And gradually, so slowly that he hardly even noticed, the night terrors eased up, slowing to the point where he had maybe three a month.  He found himself looking forward to his next visit with the children.

 

But after a while, even that took its toll on him, as he’d occasionally realize that a child had gone missing, only to be replaced with two more. He attended every funeral that he could get the information on from the newspapers, but it was hard to see a cold wooden box in place of a vibrant child, to know that another life had been cut tragically short.

 

It had been his therapist – a man by the name of Jasper Sitwell – who had recommended that he apply for a job with SHIELD. Surrounded by lively, young children, with an assistant who had worked with vets before and knew what to watch for.  This would be Bucky’s second year working for the Daycare, and his first year as the teacher in charge.  He just hoped he didn’t blow it.

 

He was stirred out of his self-contemplation by a noise that sounded suspiciously like a young child trying to be sneaky. Standing, he met Darcy’s bright eyes and wide smile.  Shaking his head, he smiled back.  It was time to go round up a couple of rambunctious youngsters.


	3. Chapter 3

The suspicious noise turned out to be Tony Stark trying to sneak out of the daycare, which was something of a surprise. Loki had already tried twice in the past three days.  But when Bucky and Darcy entered the main room, Tony had just looked at them and said solemnly, “You’re faster than Obie.”

 

 _Obie?_ Darcy mouthed from behind the kid.  Bucky shrugged; who knew how kids chose the names they did for people in their lives. It sounded like this Obie character was perhaps a babysitter, and not a very good one at that, given that Tony had seemed surprised when they had caught him trying to reach the door locks after pulling one of the tiny children’s chairs over to the door.

 

Kneeling down in front of the child, Bucky stared back at him just as calmly – at least, he hoped Tony couldn’t see the way his heart was racing in panic at nearly losing Howard Stark’s son on his first day. “Why did you want to leave, Tony?” he asked quietly.

 

Serious brown eyes considered him for a long moment, and Bucky held the gaze, ignoring Darcy as she moved away to wake the other children from their naps and get them ready to go outside for half an hour.

 

Tony looked away first, his small hands clenching into fists. “Dad says that I should always figure out how to escape a place because him and Obie won’t always be able to save me,” he admitted sullenly.

 

Bucky stilled, very careful to keep the flash of anger from showing on his face. What sort of callous man insisted that his four-year-old son find _escape routes_ from any place he goes?

 

“Tony,” he said at last, “I’m going to tell you something very important, okay?” He waited for Tony’s nod, then said solemnly, “This is a safe place. It’s our job to protect you while you’re here, no matter what.”

 

The child still looked doubtful, but before Bucky could say something he’d regret, another child approached them. Bucky smiled at the boy.  “Hello, James,” he said cheerfully.  “Are you waiting for Tony here?”

 

James Rhodes was the son of a deployed soldier, placed in their care by his beleaguered mother while she worked two jobs to keep herself and her son in their apartment. Often the first child to arrive, and the last to leave, James was also rather mature for his age.

 

“Miss Lewis says we gotta partner up today, and I won rock-paper-scissors,” he informed Bucky. Then he held out his hand to Tony.  “Hi, I’m James.  You’re Tony Stark.”

 

The little boy grimaced – apparently already hating the notoriety that came with being the son of the man who had pushed America into the new weapons revolution – but reached out and shook James’ hand firmly. “James?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as he considered the other boy.

 

James nodded. “You can call me Jim, too,” he suggested. “That’s what dad calls me.”

 

Tony’s grin was full of mischief. “Nope! I’mma call you Rhodey, like my name!” he decided authoritatively, ignoring James’ protests as he looked back over at Bucky.  “Can I go now, if I promise not to try an’ escape anymore?” he asked sweetly.  Bucky could see some of his father’s charm in him already.

 

He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, go on,” he said, making a shooing motion.  As Tony and James – Rhodey, now – walked back towards their peers to finish dressing for the outside, he turned back to the door, double-checking the locks as he felt the soldier inside him shifting to attention.

 

Whatever monsters Tony expected to find him would have to get through him first. And the Winter Soldier didn’t back down. Ever.


	4. Chapter 4

“That boy’s going to be more trouble than the rest of the children combined,” Darcy observed cheerfully. Her words barely penetrated Bucky’s concentration as he watched Tony and James over in the sandbox, talking to the Odinson boys.  Having seemingly resigned himself to staying at SHIELD for a while, Tony Stark had begun to find his place among the other children.  He had intelligence, wit, and all of his father’s charm working in his favor.

 

But he was also thoughtless, especially around the girls. Bucky didn’t know what the four year old had said to Virginia and Natasha, but the fiery redhead had thrown the nearest object at hand – a bucket for the sandbox – at Tony’s head, and the boy had wisely retreated.  Darcy had talked to Virginia, of course, explaining that she couldn’t throw things at boys just because they were stupid sometimes, but she was still put out.  Maria’s arrival, along with her partner, Clint, had distracted her quickly enough.

 

“And why is that?” Bucky asked his assistant, not disagreeing with her. He had seen it, too, after all, the boy’s brilliance and charm.  And his fear, as well-hidden as it was.

 

“He’s got half the children in love with him already,” she pointed out. “Even the girls seem oddly charmed by him, despite their initial resistance.”  She popped her piece of bubblegum loudly with a wide grin, and Bucky took a second look at the huddle of girls, who were currently eyeing the boys in the sandbox, whispering and giggling amongst themselves.  Bucky resisted the urge to close his eyes against the impending headache.  That boy really was nothing but trouble.

 

“He’s only been here for five hours,” Bucky muttered. Darcy had the gall to laugh at him.

 

“Mister Bucky?” came a quiet voice. The ex-soldier turned to look down at the small boy who was blinking up at him with large, serious eyes.

 

“Yes, Phil?” he asked, smiling kindly at the somber child.

 

“Loki tried to sneak away again,” the boy confided, pointing over to a corner where a small, dark-haired child glared sullenly in their direction. He made no mention of why the boy was now sulking, and Bucky wisely didn’t ask.  Phil was an expert at manipulating those around him with his quiet words and guileless expressions.  It was a talent that was likely the result of having grown up with three older sisters and multiple cousins.  When one was outnumbered, one used whatever abilities they had or could cultivate to survive.

 

“Thank you, Phil,” Bucky murmured. “Darcy?”

 

“Yep, I’m on it!” his assistant agreed cheerfully, sauntering off towards a group of children to herd them back indoors for snacks and crafts. Bucky had decided that today would be a drawing day – they hopefully couldn’t get into too much trouble with a bunch of crayons, right?  Besides, he was curious what the children might draw if given free reign.  Tomorrow’s activity would be decided by Darcy, and judging the glint in the woman’s eyes, it would probably involve glitter or something equally messy.

 

Moving over to the tree where Loki was now sitting, Bucky settled next to the boy, with his back against the tree, and stared straight ahead. Loki was more likely to remain stubbornly silent if Bucky tried to meet his eyes.  “Are you unhappy here, Loki?” he asked quietly, his wrists lying limply across his bent knees.  His metal fingers tapped restlessly against his leg for a moment before he managed to still them.

 

Loki was silent for long enough that Bucky was preparing to prompt him again. “I’m not unhappy here,” he said at last.  Bucky felt the tension melt from his shoulders.  “I heard something, I wanted to see what it was,” the child admitted.

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “What did it sound like?” he asked curiously.  Perhaps Loki had heard a bird or something?

 

Green eyes looked down as Loki poked sullenly at the ground with the toe of his child-sized boots. “A cat,” he replied reluctantly.  Bucky tried to hide his smile; Thor and Loki’s father, Odin, had warned him that Loki loved cats, despite the fact that the child was highly allergic to them.  It was a good thing that he had been paired with Phil today.  If he’d been with Thor, the older brother would have undoubtedly eagerly followed his kid brother in search of the mysterious cat-creature.

 

“I see. Do you still hear the cat?” Bucky asked.  Loki shook his head.  “Then I’m sure he made his way home,” he reassured the boy.

 

“She,” Loki corrected, blinking up at him. “She was looking for her owner.”

 

Bucky just nodded in agreement, climbing to his feet. He made a point of not questioning a child’s beliefs unless they were dangerous to themselves or other people.  If Loki thought he could understand cats, then the child could continue to think that. Bucky saw no reason to discourage a child’s imagination.

 

“Then I guess she found her owner, huh?” he asked. Loki nodded, and allowed Bucky to take his hand with his larger one. “Then perhaps it’s time we make our way inside, too,” he suggested mildly.  Loki considered that for a moment, watching as his brother – always louder, more boisterous – gestured wildly at his partner, no doubt telling some far-fetched tale that the children would nonetheless believe.  Jane was already staring at him with wide eyes, and even Tony didn’t seem to be immune to the boy’s enthusiasm.

 

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed, heading back towards the building. He hesitated for a moment before continuing.  “Anthony is scared,” he said at last.  Bucky frowned, looking over at the child, who was now pretending disinterest, looking anywhere but at Thor as the last of the children trooped inside.

 

“Is he?” Bucky asked. Loki nodded, and Bucky hummed.  So even the other children were picking up on Tony’s underlying emotions, though he appeared to be hiding them quite well.  The question still remained: what was Tony Stark afraid of?

 

Bucky didn’t know, but he was going to find out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have an extra long chapter as an apology for the wait!

Drawing time proved to be interesting, and a lot more informative than even Bucky had hoped. Of course, the large table they had used for their activities was probably going to need to be scrubbed with bleach, and he’d have to invest in some new boxes of crayons, given how many were currently broken and scattered on the floor, but as he pinned the pictures on the corkboard that ran the entire back of the room, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.  Each of these pictures would be treasured for their own reason, and at the end of the year, they would be relinquished to the children’s parents as trophies of their accomplishments.

 

Loki had drawn, predictably enough, a black cat with gleaming green eyes. But he had also drawn a blue humanoid holding the cat.  He called it a Jotunn, and Bucky decided that he really ought to brush up on his Norse Mythology, especially after Thor had drawn what Bucky was pretty sure was supposed to be an older version of himself holding a large hammer and summoning lightning from black clouds in the sky.  He had long blonde hair and a bright red cape, and was standing at the top of some sort of tower.  From a castle, maybe?

 

Phil had drawn himself in a uniform that looked very familiar, and Bucky grinned. Captain America, the hero of young boys everywhere.  Not that he could fault them; Captain America was his hero, too. James had drawn something similar, though he was in a uniform that Bucky was pretty sure was supposed to be camouflage, saluting to a gigantic Captain America waving the American Flag and pointing at a grown-up James Rhodes with a big smile.

 

Virginia’s picture didn’t surprise him, as she’d chosen to draw her family. Her mom in high heels and a dress and pearl necklace, and her dad in a business suit.  Two smiling adults holding the hands of their equally smiling daughter.  Both parents had faithfully come to drop her off each morning, and would likely continue to do so, as they both worked nearby.

 

Natasha had drawn spiders all over her picture for some reason, which had made Virginia squeal with disgust, but had caught Loki’s interest. Clint had drawn himself standing next to his brother, both of them holding bows and arrows and wearing very colorful circus uniforms.  Clint’s was purple and black and silver and green, and Barney’s was red and white and gold and black.  There were also lions and elephants and a couple of clowns in the picture that were mostly just round circles with teeth and funny hair to identify them as human or animal. 

 

Maria had drawn a picture of Nicholas Fury, of all people. Darcy had taken one look at it, and promptly turned away, but she couldn’t hide the shaking in her shoulders or the muffled snickers.  Nick was wearing a long black coat and an eye patch and glaring out from the page.  Bucky knew that the Hills were friend of the Directors, but he hadn’t realized that their child knew him as well.  He had to admit that he was having a hard time picturing the man at a family dinner with the Hills, and he had to hide a snicker of his own; it would do no good to encourage Darcy’s lack of respect for their boss.

 

Tony had drawn….Bucky wasn’t entirely sure. It looked like a small robot, in bright red and yellow, blasting away at a large monster.  Bucky wondered who the monster was, though he was pretty sure the smaller figure was supposed to be the child himself.  But the picture set off warning bells that similar ones – like Phil’s and James’ – did not. Probably because Tony’s picture had a villain.  Then again, every hero had to have a villain to fight, didn’t they?

 

Still, he hung them up as promised while the children were munching on their afternoon snacks. He kept one ear out for the beginnings of any arguments, but it seemed that even Loki had forgone taunting his older brother in favor of pestering Tony with more questions.

 

“Can you really build robots?” Loki was asking, wide-eyed. Bucky paused for a moment, waiting to hear the answer.  He was aware, at least vaguely, of Howard’s ingenuity when it came to designing and building weapons – though to hear Nick tell it, only about a third of those actually worked the way they were designed to, and the rest tended to have…unintended consequences.  It was a wonder the man wasn’t dead yet.  Surely he wouldn’t let his four year old son into the lab?

 

But Tony was nodding, and Bucky had a sinking feeling. “Yeah,” he said proudly. “They’re kinda dumb, though,” he added with a frown.  “An’ the toaster doesn’t like bagels.”  Bucky wondered if his expression was blankly confused as the children’s.

 

“Oooh! Can the toaster talk?” Darcy asked with a wide grin.

 

Tony flinched, nearly imperceptible except to someone who was watching, then twisted to look up at her. “No,” he frowned.  “Toaster’s can’t talk.”  Bucky’s mouth twitched; Tony sounded a lot like Bucky’s best friend when he felt Bucky had said something stupid.  “But it doesn’t burn bread anymore.”  He sounded oddly proud of that, and Bucky’s grin widened as he moved away from the pictures and towards the table.  Getting a toaster to properly cook a slice of bread was definitely praise-worthy.

 

“My dad made a robot once,” Loki was saying. “It blew stuff up.” 

 

“Aye, it was a mighty fire,” Thor agreed, ignoring it when his brother reached over and pinched his arm. “There was a lot of yelling.”

 

Tony was staring at the two brothers like they were insane. “The toaster won’t blow up,” he said faintly.

 

“Boys are stupid,” Virginia stage-whispered to her friend Maria, who just nodded in agreement. “Blowing stuff up is stupid.”

 

Almost as one, the boys turned on them, and Bucky moved forward to intervene before they got into a brawl or something equally ridiculous. He’d never seen a group of four- and five-year-olds battle it out before, but he’d see siblings take offense to having to share their toys, and he was pretty sure this would be worse. So much worse.  “All right, enough of that,” he said quickly.  “Tony, you should bring us a picture of the toaster.   Loki, please don’t bring any of your dad’s robots to work.   That goes for you, too, Thor,” he added.  The brothers nodded grudgingly, disappointed at not being allowed to bring a potentially killer robot in for show and tell.

 

Tony was watching him oddly. Bucky waited for the question he could see in curious brown eyes, but the boy turned to his friend instead.  “It looks like a toaster.  Why would I bring a picture?” he asked, confused.

 

James shrugged. “’Cause it’s cool?” he hazarded.  Tony seemed to consider that, but he still didn’t look convinced.  James grinned and leaned over, whispering something in Tony’s ear that had the boy smiling.  Bucky was relieved; Tony had made at least one friend so far.  James was relatively trustworthy, for a five-year-old.  He certainly listened better than some of the others – Clint and Loki, most noticeably – and Bucky suspected that Tony didn’t have a lot of friends his age.

 

Clint, a small spike-haired blonde troublemaker if Bucky ever saw one, was leaning towards Tony from his other side. Tony shifted a bit uncomfortably, but didn’t move from his seat.   “Maybe you can bring t’toaster,” he suggested with childish glee.  “I’ll help you r’member!”  From seemingly out of nowhere, Clint produced a purple crayon and reached for Tony’s hand.

 

Darcy was faster than the sneaky child, though, and managed to snag the crayon. “How about we ask the adults in the room to write a note to Tony’s parents to see if they’ll allow him to bring in the super-toaster for Show and Tell?” she suggested sweetly.  Clint scowled, and Natasha poked him in the arm, which made him pull away from her with a laugh, nearly falling out of his chair.  Tony’s eyes widened in surprise as the other boy bumped into him after squirming away from the redheaded female.  He made a small, unhappy noise, leaning back against James.

 

One of the other children grabbed hold of Clint and pulled him back. “Clint, no,” Bruce sighed, blinking as his hair fell into his eyes.

 

“Clint, yes,” the boy cackled back, squirming down from his seat. Loki followed, and that set off a chain reaction of running, laughing children.  Bucky closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, moving forward to help Darcy wrangle overly-excited children before their parents arrived.

 

At the table, Tony scooted over closer to Bruce and watched the ensuing chaos with wide eyes. Phil just sighed, looking resigned as he watched Clint lead the others in a merry game of tag while the adults tried futilely to grab onto the squirming, laughing children.  Phil was the only one that seemed to be able to maintain even a modicum of control over the towheaded child, though Bucky was desperately hoping that at least a few of their planned ‘partnerships’ worked out just as well.

 

By the time all of the children were somewhat contained, parents had started to arrive, and Tony and Bruce were deep in conversation about something or other. James wandered over and joined them easily enough, and Bucky eyed the three of them approvingly. The more friends Tony had, the less likely it was that he’d be able to wander off without somebody noticing.  Besides, Bruce was a brilliant child despite his awkwardness, and it was sometimes hard for the other children to keep up.  But by all accounts, Tony was just as much of a genius as the other boy, so maybe they’d have more in common as well.

 

Phil’s father showed up first, punctual as always, one of Phil’s older sisters gripping his hand. Phil gracefully submitted to an enthusiastic hug from Clint, and cheerful goodbyes from several other children.  Bucky hid his grin before leading the child to his family members, along with the daily reports.  Really, it was just a small slip of paper with a couple of boxes that got checked every day for each child, a daily progress report of sorts.  As per usual, Phil’s boxes were filled with smiley faces the whole way across, courtesy of Darcy Lewis.  At least she hadn’t drawn hearts today.

 

“Thank you,” said Mr. Coulson, smiling down at his son, who was tolerating his older sister’s gentle teasing with a bland sort of calm. It would explain why he coped so well with the other children. 

 

“It’s our pleasure,” Bucky replied honestly, releasing Phil into his father’s care. “We’ll be working with finger paints tomorrow, so if he has some older clothes that you wouldn’t mind winding up covered in paint, feel free to send them with him.”  Phil tended to dress in slacks and a button-down shirt – his preference or his parents’, Bucky didn’t know – but Bucky figured he’d at least want the option of wearing sweatpants or something if they were going to be painting.

 

Five minutes later, Phil and his family were gone, and other parents were starting to show up. Between Thor and Loki competing for their father’s attention, and Clint trying to smuggle Natasha home with him, Bucky and Darcy had their hands full.  By the time most of the children had been picked up, Bucky was eyeing the clock wearily, silently willing it to move faster.  Only James, Bruce, and, surprisingly, Tony remained.  The three boys were settled on the large rug over in the corner with the Legos, building something with little bricks and a thick rubber band that they had found in some previously unknown location.  “Is that…a catapult?” Bucky muttered in resignation to his aide.

 

Darcy grinned at him. “Yep,” she agreed.  “Isn’t it awesome?!  I think they have some sort of pulley system set up, too,” she added cheerfully.

 

Bucky laughed. It was either that, or cry.

 

“I’m so sorry I’m late!” Mrs. Banner exclaimed as she hurried into the room, her eyes immediately seeking out her son. Bruce looked up at the sound of her voice and gave her a shy smile as he stood up.  Tony was watching the little curly-haired boy closely as Bruce moved forward to give his mom a careful hug, his expression unreadable.

 

“Hi, mom,” Bruce said quietly, allowing himself to be wrapped up into a hug.

 

“Hey, sweetie. Did you have a good day?” Mrs. Banner asked.  Bruce nodded, and she smiled, looking up to take in the two boys remaining in the room.  “I’m glad to hear it.”  To the boys, she added, “Thank you for taking care of Bruce.”

 

Tony had an arrested expression on his face as he stared at her, but James grinned. “You’re welcome.  He’s really smart!” he added, obviously pleased about it.  Bruce blushed and hid his face in his mom’s shoulder.  The two of them left, then, leaving only James and Tony.

 

Darcy was nearby, but she waited until the two boys were refocused on their projects before asking, “Did Mr. Jarvis say he’d be late?”

 

Bucky shook his head. “No, but maybe something happened?  We’ll wait a little longer, and then call Tony’s parents if necessary.”  Darcy nodded and moved off, starting to clean up the room and organize supplies in preparations for the next day’s activities.  The two boys talked quietly among themselves, although Tony kept glancing warily up at the clock situated above the classroom door.

 

When James’ mother showed up, her hair falling out of its bun and dark circles under her eyes, Bucky started to worry. “Look up Mr. Stark’s number,” he murmured to Darcy, who just nodded quietly and walked off to do as he’d asked.  Bucky greeted James’ mother and assured her that James had behaved just fine before seeing saw the child off.  James seemed reluctant to leave Tony by himself, but the other boy seemed disinterested at best, so James eventually allowed his harried mother to herd him off.

 

Watching Tony silently for a moment as the boy returned to the Legos and started dismantling them with quick, efficient movements, Bucky was about to walk over when Darcy stormed out of the office, her eyes narrowed. “That stupid, egotistical….argh!” she said, raking her hands through her hair.  Tony was watching them in wary interest now, and Bucky moved swiftly to cut Darcy off before she said something incriminating within hearing distance of a small child. 

 

“Tony, please stay here. We’ll be back in five minutes,” he promised, remembering from Tony’s application that he liked to have schedules and timelines to go by.  Aware that the clock was ticking, Bucky grabbed Darcy by the shoulders and propelled her ahead of him back into the office, shutting the door firmly with his foot before releasing the pissed off brunette.

 

“Did you get in touch with Mr. Stark?” he asked gravely.

 

“Of course I did!” she snapped back. “After talking to like six other people and threatening to come over there myself and taze him if he didn’t answer the phone.”  Bucky closed his eyes in resignation; Darcy was inordinately fond of her tazer, and she wasn’t afraid to use it.  He’d learned that through painful first-hand experience.

 

“And?” he prompted.

 

Darcy scowled. “He told me he liked forward women and asked me out on a date.”  Bucky dropped his head into his hands, on the verge of sobbing.  “Then he said that he was in the middle of something, and that Mr. Jarvis would be picking Tony up.”

 

Bucky sighed. “Do we have a number for him?” he asked, moving across the room to rummage in the desk for the list of phone numbers.

 

Just then, there was a loud knock on the outer door. Bucky and Darcy looked at each other before hurrying out of the office.  Tony was halfway between the open play area and the door, and he looked up at them as they strode into the room.  “Please stay there, Tony,” Bucky said as he moved towards the door, opening it to reveal a harried Edwin Jarvis.  The older man’s suit was rumpled, his tie askew, and he was breathing heavily.

 

Straightening, the taller man calmed his breathing and met his eyes steadily. “I apologize for my tardiness, Mr. Barnes,” he murmured.  “Something unexpected came up.  I came as soon as I could.  Is Master Anthony ready?”

 

“Mr. Jarvis! You came!” Tony exclaimed from behind them, hurrying forward as Jarvis knelt down and opened his arms, wrapping the child in a tight hug. After a moment, Tony pulled away and put his hands on his hips.  “Were you out with Aunt Peggy again?” he asked.  Bucky stifled a grin as the four-year-old scolded the chastened butler.

 

“Please, Master Anthony,” Jarvis replied, sounding pained, “I came here as soon as I was able. Your father…”

 

Tony’s scowl darkened. “I’m glad he didn’t come!” he insisted.  “You should always come!”

 

Jarvis’ expression gentled. “We’ll discuss this at home, Master Anthony,” he promised.  Tony nodded, accepting the compromise.  Jarvis smiled at him, then turned his attention to Bucky.

 

Five minutes later, they were gone, and Darcy walked up to stand beside him. “Is it just me, or does Tony really not like his dad?”

 

“We’re not discussing Howard Stark,” Bucky stated firmly.

 

But he had to admit, if only to himself, he wondered the same thing.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The following Tuesday, Bucky was ready to throw in the towel as he dragged himself upright in bed. Loki had incited no less than three riots, Thor had destroyed two boxes of crayons and a set of paintbrushes, Tony and James had started a prank war with the girls, and Clint had somehow managed to rile Bruce up enough to drag the other boy into a fistfight which then had to be explained to distraught parents.  Darcy had stormed up to him yesterday and told him in no uncertain terms that she was taking a day off, and if he liked his balls where they were, he wouldn’t call her for anything short of SHIELD burning down or a serial killer storming the building.  Bucky was pretty sure her boyfriend was in town, home from university on break.

 

Calling the Director would get him fired, but Bucky was absolutely positive that if he had to manage those little monsters on his own today, he was going to end up insane by the end of the day. So he fumbled blearily for his cell phone, cursing as he dropped it to the floor.  With a groan, he scooped it back up and dialed the only number that he’d ever bothered to memorize.

 

“Bucky! What’s up? How’s work?”  The cheerful voice made Bucky wince, pulling his ear away from the phone.  Damn Steve for being a morning person.  He’d probably already been out for a run, breakfast, and a shower.  Bucky glared at the bedside clock.  It was only six in the morning. He had one hour before he had to be work.

 

“Work’s fine,” he managed to mumble after a moment, his eyes closing again of their own volition. He forced them back open, trying to wake up enough to actually speak coherently.  “Actually, that’s why I’m callin’ you,” he admitted.  “You got plans today?”

 

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line – Steve checking his calendar, undoubtedly – before he came back. “Nope, no plans.  At least, nothing that can’t be moved,” he corrected, knowing that Bucky hated it when he lied about not having plans, even if those plans were something silly like lunch at the local diner or a walk through the nearby park.

 

Bucky frowned. “Sam?” he asked.  It was well-known that Steve’s boyfriend liked to make sure they did things together when they were both home.  But since he worked in DC during the week, and Steve stayed in their apartment in Brooklyn, they usually had to settle for daily phone calls.

 

Steve’s warm chuckle vibrated through the phone, making Bucky’s toes curl. He liked it when Steve was in a good mood; he remembered all too well how bad things had gotten during the war, especially after he’d lost his arm.  Steve still blamed himself for that, even though there was nothing he could’ve done.  It was more important to get the rest of their unit out safely; a single casualty was an acceptable loss, especially as he hadn’t even died.  But since finding Sam, Steve had slowly started to smile again, to open up about the things that were bothering him.  Bucky was grateful to Sam, who had started out as a volunteer at a center in Washington for retired veterans, providing information and access to local resources, and had gradually become so much more. 

 

Bucky grinned at the reminder of Steve and Sam’s first date. It nearly hadn’t happened, Steve had been such a nervous wreck.  Bucky had finally had to call Sam and get the man to come drag Steve out the door so they could go to dinner.

 

“Nah, he’s got clients this morning and a lecture this afternoon,” Steve said. “We won’t talk until tonight. I was just thinking about going down to the park and drawing a little bit.”

 

Bucky shivered, just thinking about how cold it was out there. It was only mid-January, after all.  “Yeah, well, I’ve got something better,” he proposed, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice and failing miserably.  “How would you like to come hang out with a bunch of four and five year olds?”  His prosthetic hand tightened on the phone, and he forced his grip to loosen while he waited for an answer.

 

“Uh….no Darcy today?” Steve asked tentatively. Bucky didn’t blame him.  The first time they’d met, Darcy had made it very clear what she thought about Steve, though Bucky was pretty sure that ‘hunky piece of delicious man-meat’, while accurate, was highly inappropriate for a man Steve’s age. 

 

“Naw, she needed the day off. And we haven’t hung out in a while.”  He kept his tone neutral, careful not to sound accusing.  He didn’t want Steve to feel guilty, since their lack of time together was mostly Bucky’s fault anyhow.

 

There was a short pause, and Bucky could practically hear Steve thinking while he rummaged around in the fridge. “Sure,” he agreed at last.  “Give me an hour, and I’ll be there.”

 

Bucky smiled dopily. “Thanks, Stevie,” he murmured, glad that the other man couldn’t see his expression.

 

“Jerk,” Steve replied fondly.

 

“Punk,” Bucky retorted before hanging up and setting about getting ready for the day, in a much brighter mood than he’d been in when he’d first awoken.

 

Today couldn’t possibly be worse than the last few, right?

 

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super-short chapter, but it seemed like a good stopping point.
> 
> Next chapter: Steve Rogers! Hoorah! ^^


	7. Chapter 7

Steve’s arrival at the daycare was a mixed blessing. The moment he stepped inside, dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a plaid button-up over a simple white t-shirt, all movement stopped.  Nine pairs of wide young eyes started at him for all of two seconds before the room broke out into fierce whispers.  James and Phil were absolutely certain that Captain America had come to visit them.  Thor was willing to believe them, but Loki just scoffed, informing them that heroes like the Captain didn’t just wander into the local daycare to say ‘hi’, and it was obviously somebody else.

 

Tony’s reaction, though, was perhaps the most violent. Before Bucky realized what he was going to do, the young child ran up to Steve and kicked him in the shin.  Steve grimaced, but didn’t grab for the boy, instead stepping to the side.  Tony glared at him, crossing his arms over his small chest.  “What are you doing here?” he demanded angrily.

 

Bucky scolded, “Anthony Edward Stark! We don’t kick people. You know better. Go sit in time out.  Five minutes.”  Tony glared at him, but did as he was told, stomping over to the corner to throw himself into the desk chair there.  In a moment, Bucky would go over and talk to him, to make sure that he understood what he did wrong and try to find out why he’d reacted the way he had.

 

Steve gave Bucky a half-smile as he approached to check that his best friend was okay. “I’m fine,” he murmured.  “He’s still mad that things didn’t work out with his Aunt Peggy.”

 

Bucky stared at him for a long moment before making the connection. “Wait a minute,” he said, his jaw dropping.  “That dame you liked is his aunt?” he asked, dumbfounded.  Now that he actually thought about it, he did remember something about Howard and Agent Carter being friends during the war.  He just hadn’t connected Agent Carter to the Peggy that Tony knew.

 

Steve shrugged. “Not really his aunt, but yeah,” he confirmed.  Bucky closed his eyes, and Steve chuckled ruefully.  “Sorry about this. I didn’t know he would be here,” he admitted.  Bucky waved off his apology.

 

“Not your fault. Besides, that still doesn’t excuse him,” he added, gesturing for Steve to move with him.  “Steve, these are the children,” he introduced, indicating each child as he listed them.  “James, Bruce, Phil, Maria, Natasha, Clint, Loki, Thor, and Virginia.  Kids, this is Captain Steve Rogers.  Yes, he’s Captain America.”  With that, he abandoned Steve to the children and headed over to Tony, who was watching the goings-on with narrowed eyes.

 

Bucky knelt in front of Tony, careful to project his movements so as to not startle the child. Tony had already demonstrated what happened when somebody snuck up on him – Clint still gave the other boy a wide berth whenever they were paired together.  “Tony, do you know why you’re here?” he asked softly.

 

Tony scowled. “Because I kicked Rogers,” he answered sullenly.  He called Steve by his last name; Bucky made note of that.  “He made Aunt Peggy cry,” he added mulishly.

 

Bucky sighed. “That may be the case, but he didn’t mean to. And your Aunt Peggy is happy now, isn’t she?” he asked.  Tony stared at him angrily for a minute before blinking, then seemed to actually consider the question.  He nodded grudgingly.  “Then maybe it worked out for the best.  Maybe things had to happen the way they did so that Aunt Peggy could find the person she could love the most.” 

 

Tony frowned, then looked over at Steve before turning back to him. “I’ll apologize,” he said at last, quietly.  Bucky knew it had been hard for him to say that; Stark men apparently didn’t apologize very often.  But in this case, Tony obviously knew that he’d been in the wrong, and he was willing to make amends.

 

“I think he’d appreciate that,” Bucky said at last, glancing at the clock. “In two minutes, you can come over and apologize, okay?” he asked.  Tony glanced at the clock as well before nodding, relaxing into a slump in his seat, obviously relieved that he’d gotten off with little more than a minor scolding.

 

When he made his way back over to the group of children, settling himself across from Steve, he couldn’t help but grin at the way the children were hammering his friend with questions, Steve’s huge settled awkwardly on the carpet as the questions flew at him. “Did you really jump out of a plane without a parachute?  Who made your uniform?  Did you really punch the bad guys in the face?  Do you have a girlfriend? Why did Tony kick you?  Were you mean to him?”

 

Steve was fielding questions manfully, despite the fact that the tips of his ears were bright red. Children were awful forthright, and Steve had never been much better at handling them than he was at handling forward women.  But he was trying his best.  “I had a parachute,” he informed James, then glanced at Phil.  “I don’t actually know who made my first uniform,” he admitted.  “But the second one was made by Howard Stark.”  Phil's eyes widened, and he turned to stare at Tony, who just stared back, having no idea what was going on.  Steve grinned.  “Yep, Tony’s dad.”

 

“Are you and Tony’s dad friends?” James demanded. “Why’d he kick you, then?”

 

Steve grimaced. “Ah, yes, we’re friends,” he said. He shot a pleading look at Bucky, who just smirked, glad that he wasn’t the one under fire right now.  “I accidentally hurt somebody that Tony loves very much,” he said at last, squirming like a chastened toddler himself.

 

“Why?” Phil asked, curiously. “You’re Captain America; you’re not supposed to hurt people.”

 

Steve grimaced, and Bucky came to the rescue. “Captain America is just a nickname.  He’s still human,” he drawled.  “He makes mistakes, just like everybody else.”  The children looked like they didn’t believe him. 

 

He was saved from trying to explain to a bunch of children why even superheroes sometimes messed up by Tony’s approach. Fidgeting with the cuffs on his long sleeves, he walked until he was standing in front of Steve.  “I’m sorry for kicking you,” he mumbled, his eyes pointed towards the ground.  “I won’t do it again.”

 

Blue eyes regarded the repentant child with sympathy. “Thank you,” he said, smart enough to know that saying ‘it’s okay’ would not be helpful right now.  “And I’m sorry, too.  Forgive me?”

 

Tony seemed to consider it for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay, I guess,” he agreed.  Steve’s smile was brilliant, and Bucky was pretty sure the girls – and a few of the boys – swooned.  Tony just scowled and turned his head to look at Bucky, who nodded.

 

Tony promptly moved as far away from Steve as he could get, settling down next to Bruce, who was the only other child who hadn’t pressed up close the moment Steve arrived. Even Loki was sitting by Captain America, though he seemed more skeptical than most.

 

Careful not to appear as if he was eavesdropping, Bucky listened to the two boys talk. “Why do you really not like him?” Bruce whispered curiously.

 

Tony scowled. “Dad thinks he’s perfect.  Everybody likes him.  It’s stupid.”  Bucky felt his eyebrows rise in interest despite his reservations.  He knew that Steve meant a lot to Howard – than he had been one of Howard’s only friends during the war, other than Carter, but he hadn’t realized that Howard’s son didn’t share the same hero worship as the other children.  “He can’t save anybody,” Tony added, and Bucky froze.  That sounded…personal.  A lot more personal than just not liking Captain America.

 

Bruce nodded. “But maybe he’s not supposed to,” he whispered back.  Bucky saw Steve stiffen, and realized that the soldier could hear the two boys even over the other children.

 

He clapped his hands. “All right, that’s enough pestering Captain America for now.  He’ll be with us all day,” he promised them, much to their delight.  “But for now, we have work things to do.  Tony, I saw that you brought your toaster today.  Would you like to show it to the class?”  He hadn’t thought that Tony would remember to have the permission slip signed to bring in the toaster, so he’d been rather surprised when the boy had handed it to him almost

 

Immediately, the children turned as one towards Tony, who pressed back into Bruce, which was completely useless. “Um…” he said.  Over on the low counter where Bucky had set the toaster earlier that morning, an excited mechanical purr sounded.  Tony looked over at it.  “Toasty, stop it,” he ordered.  The toaster gave a sad beep before falling silent.

 

“Ooooh!” went the children, and Bucky pressed a hand hard against his mouth to muffle his laughter. Steve was just as wide-eyed as the children.  Without even waiting for permission, the group swarmed the counter, prodding with tiny, curious fingers at the toaster, which had until now been silent and uninteresting.  The toaster beeped frantically n protest, and Tony finally moved to protect it.

 

“He built a toaster?” Steve whispered in awe.

 

Bucky looked over at his best friend. “Yeah, apparently he’s built other robots, too, though we haven’t met them yet.  You didn’t know?”

 

Steve shook his head, frowning. “No. Howard doesn’t talk about his son much.  And after Peggy and I broke things off, Tony wanted nothing to do with me.  This is the first time I’ve seen him in months.”

 

Bucky frowned. From what he’d seen in just under a week, Tony was a brilliant kid, if a bit stand-offish and moody when he wasn’t actively trying to charm the people around him.  Why wouldn’t Howard be bragging to his best friend about his son?  Was he that busy that he hadn’t even noticed his son following in his footsteps?

 

“You said that the toaster didn’t talk,” Loki accused, glaring at Tony.

 

The four-year-old stared at the other boy like he was crazy. Or stupid. “It’s a toaster.  It doesn’t talk.  It makes noise because it’s a machine.”

 

“Is that not a form of communication?” Thor asked curiously.

 

“Can you talk back?” Phil asked. Thor shook his head, and Phil shrugged.  “It can’t talk.”

 

“It can!” Loki insisted. Thor agreed, and Clint got a familiar look that Bucky recognized.  He swore the brat only came to the daycare to cause trouble.  The children were already shifting, choosing sides for the brewing argument.

 

Bucky grabbed Steve’s forearm and said with forced brightness, “All right, kids. Why don’t we think about this for a bit and sit down for snacktime?”

 

Natasha gave him a look of utter disdain, which was rather impressive on such a young face. “We can have bagels.”  It wasn’t a question.

 

Bucky glanced at Steve, who shrugged. “I’m pretty sure we don’t have bagels,” he replied carefully.  Almost instantaneously, the children all turned to him with betrayed looks, and he winced. “Umm…maybe Steve here can go buy some real quick?” he suggested.  Eight pairs of hopeful eyes turned towards Captain America, who rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but nodded.  The children cheered.

 

“I guess I’ll…be back soon?” Steve murmured.

 

“Very soon,” Bucky agreed, hoping he’d managed to keep the desperation out of his voice. Steve was gone a moment later, and Bucky sighed.  Now he had to entertain eight excitable children for the next fifteen minutes or so until Steve returned with bagels so they could put them in a toaster built by a four-year-old Tony Stark.  He’d consider himself lucky if nothing blew up.  Steve had told him stories about the elder Stark’s inventions, many of which had never worked the way they were supposed to.

 

Tony was hugging the toaster tightly to his chest now. Maria was staring at him with narrowed eyes, demanding to know how come he got to bring a toaster to the daycare when the rules said that the kids weren’t allowed to bring electronics.  Phil looked like he wanted to agree, but he pointed out that Captain America had gone to get bagels, which meant that it had to be okay, right?

 

“Tony got to bring the toaster because it’s something he made,” Bucky explained carefully. “Like Clint was allowed to bring his bow, and James brought in his peashooter.”  Neither boy had been allowed to bring in the accompanying ammunition, of course, but Bucky had no problem encouraging them to show off the things they liked.  As long as their parents were okay with it and Nick Fury never found out.  Darcy thought it was hilarious, especially when Bucky had tried to explain to Natasha why she couldn’t bring the pair of knives that had been handed down in her family for generations.  Instead, he was going to allow her to teach her classmates some words and phrases in Russian, after he screened them, of course.  Clint had apparently already wheedled some out of her, and Bucky had nearly had a stroke the first time the four-year-old had uttered a Russian swear word.  The other kids, naturally, had taken notice, and Bucky had spent the rest of the afternoon trying to explain why the other kids shouldn’t follow suit.

 

Clint had gotten hold of the toaster’s cord and was tugging on it, while Tony tried to pull it away from the other boy. The poor device was beeping frantically now, lights flashing.  Bucky had about two seconds to wonder how the toaster could do anything without being plugged in, and then it was chaos as Tony lunged forward with an angry shout and attempted to brain Clint with the toaster.

 

Ten minutes later, Steve opened the classroom door to find children sulking in various corners while Bucky lay flat on his back in the middle of the room, hugging Tony’s toaster to his chest like it was the only sane port in a sea of chaos. The toaster beeped sympathetically, and Bucky pet it carefully.

 

“Uh, I brought bagels?” Steve asked, holding up the bag.

 

Bucky thunked his head back against the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm actually making progress here! This was supposed to be like three chapters long, but I really should've known better. This is not beta'd, so any mistakes are my own! And if I screwed up on anything else, please let me know! I'd rather fix it now than let it go until later. ^_^;
> 
> Also....Tony building a semi-intelligent toaster is not an original idea. But it seemed like something a four-year old genius might be able to build, if he was, you know, Tony Stark.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is a minor suggestion of spousal and child abuse both mentioned in this chapter. Please consider yourself forewarned, and if you wish to skip it, I'll put a brief summary at the bottom of the chapter.

Tony was absent Wednesday and Thursday, and Bucky’s phone calls to the Stark residence went unanswered. It wasn’t completely unheard of for a child to miss a day or two, but a parent usually let Bucky know why the child was out, whether they were sick or on vacation.  But Bucky couldn’t help worrying that perhaps Tony had decided on his own not to come any more.  The child had been obviously unhappy when Steve had been there, and while the two of them had arrived at some sort of uneasy truce, it was quite possible that the youngest Stark had decided it would be better to avoid the daycare altogether.  Still, Bucky would’ve thought that Mr. Jarvis, at least, would have notified him.

 

Darcy just looked at him oddly when he brought it up. “He’s four years old, Bucky,” she told him.  “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t get to decide to just stop coming.  He’s probably sick.  His dad seems to have a…thing about phones,” she smirked.  Bucky wondered what sort of story was behind that look.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” he agreed. At that moment, Clint fell off a bookshelf, Natasha and Phil watching him with disapproval.  The subsequent distraction of tending to the child’s injuries – a couple of bruises and stung pride – kept him from worrying for a while.

 

When Tony showed up on Friday, he was even more subdued than usual, his right wrist wrapped in ace bandages and a small cut on his lower lip. Bucky eyed the older gentleman that brought him in, a large, heavy hand gripping the child’s shoulder.  Bucky hurried over to them, catching sight of Darcy over to the side, frowning even as she scrubbed syrup off of James’ face.  “Tony!  It’s good to see you.  James is already here, if you want to go play.” 

 

Tony looked up at the large man, who smiled down at him. Bucky’s skin crawled, the instincts he’d honed during the war making him tense without knowing why.  “Well? Go on, m’boy,” the man rumbled, moving his hand.  Tony moved away slowly, but picked up his pace a bit once he was out of arm’s reach.  James was already grinning at him, trying to pull away from a laughing Darcy.

 

Bucky held out his metal hand. “Hello.  I don’t believe we’ve met.  I’m James Barnes.”  No way was he giving this guy his nickname, not until he was sure he checked out.

 

“Obadiah Stane,” the man greeted, obviously amused as he shook Bucky’s hand firmly. “I apologize for Tony’s absence.  He had a bit of a spill in his old man' lab, split open his lip and sprained his wrist trying to catch himself.  I would have called myself, but I didn’t have the center’s number, and the butler is out of town.”

 

Stane referred to Mr. Jarvis as _the butler_?  Bucky filed that information away to ponder later, carefully keeping his expression as politely neutral as he could manage.  This man was obviously a trusted caretaker of Howard Stark’s son, and it wouldn’t do to ostracize the man without justification.  “I see,” he replied carefully.  “We’re glad to have Tony back, and will be sure to keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t put pressure on his wrist.”

 

“I’d appreciate it,” Stane replied. He looked over to where Tony was talking to James, tousled heads bent over a stack of blocks.  “Tony, be good, you hear?” he boomed out, making Bucky flinch back before he could stop himself.  Christ, but the man was loud.

 

Tony flinched as well, but looked up in Stane’s general direction. “Yes, Obie,” he replied obediently.  Stane nodded his approval, promised Bucky that someone would be there to pick Tony up later, then left, his heavy footfalls dropping heavily down the hall.

 

Darcy stepped up next to Bucky, not touching him, but letting him know she was there. Behind them, James laughed at something Tony said, and Bucky slowly let the tension drain from his neck and shoulders and back.  “Who was he?” Darcy asked softly.

 

“Obadiah Stane,” Bucky replied.

 

“Obadiah Stane? As in Howard’s second-in-command?” Darcy asked in surprise. Bucky looked at her.  “What?” she asked defensively.  “I hear things.  He’s like….the dude Stark trusts more than anybody, except maybe Mr. Jarvis and that lady friend of his.  Stark makes things, Stane sells them.” 

 

Bucky sighed. “Apparently, he trusts this guy with his son, too,” he mused, glancing back at Tony, who was drawing something on a piece of paper, James pointing to something on the picture.

 

Darcy shrugged. “Maybe,” she said.  Then her expression brightened.  “Bruce!” she exclaimed, greeting the newest arrival.

 

Dropping his eyes to the floor, Bruce murmured, “Hello, Miss Lewis.” Despite Darcy’s insistence, the four year old had yet to use her first name.  Behind Bruce was Mrs. Banner.  Her makeup was a little heavier than normal, but Bucky could still make out the purpling bruise near her temple.

 

“Darcy, why don’t you get Bruce settled with Tony and James?” he murmured. Darcy grinned and gave him a sloppy salute, already hustling Bruce away towards the drawing table, chattering a mile a minute about who-knew-what.

 

“Mrs. Banner, are you all right?” he asked carefully. Mrs. Banner blinked, her hand fluttering up towards her head before she caught herself and dropped it.

 

She gave him a shaky smile. “I’m fine.  A pile of boxes toppled over yesterday.  I’m lucky this is all I got.”  Bucky remembered that she worked in a factory part-time, and minor accidents were pretty much inevitable.  He’d done some work in local warehouses when he’d first returned from the war, but the noise and the constant movement in his peripheral had been nearly unbearable.  Still, something didn’t sit right with Mrs. Banner’s story, but Bucky just nodded sympathetically and vowed to keep a closer eye on Bruce.

 

“Well, I hope today goes better for you,” he offered with his most charming smile. Mrs. Banner blushed, smiling more genuinely now as she bid him a quiet goodbye, leaving her son in their care.

 

Loud footsteps pounded down the hallway, and Clint came barreling around the corner, Loki close on his heels. Bucky stepped out the door, and the two boys skidded to a halt in front of him, staring up at him with wide eyes.  “Excited for the day to begin, I see,” he observed blandly.  The two boys looked at each other, then nodded, giving him innocent smiles.  Bucky didn’t believe them for a moment, and when he looked up to greet Loki’s father and Clint’s older brother, Clint stuck his tongue out at Loki and ducked into the classroom.  Bucky sent up a silent prayer for patience, and vowed to pair the two boys with anybody but each other.

 

Half an hour later, the kids were all accounted for and paired up. Bucky decided to try pairing Tony with Loki, and Bruce with Clint, in the hopes that the two boys could learn to get along despite their very different personalities.  Natasha was with Maria, and Virginia was paired with Phil.  That left Thor and James together, which Darcy seemed to think was hilarious for some reason, though she was keeping those reasons to herself.

 

Currently, the children were seated at the crafts table with a multitude of colored bits of construction paper, child-safety scissors, and crayons, making wishing chain rings. The idea was to write wishes on the strips of colored paper and link them together into a chain rope to hang from the ceiling.  It should have been a relatively simple undertaking, but Bucky was rarely that lucky.

 

“You can’t wish for tha’!” Clint exclaimed, leaning into Bruce’s shoulder. “You have to wish for things that’re real!”

 

Bruce blinked at him. “Why?” he asked curiously.  “Aren’t they wishes because they might not be real?”

 

Clint scoffed. “Then how do they come true?” he demanded.  “If they’re not real?”

 

Which set off a debate among a bunch of four-and-five year olds on the meaning and purpose of wishes. Darcy pointed out that most people wished for things they didn’t actually think they’d get, but that sometimes wishes were more like goals or promises for the future, things they wanted to do or achieve when they grew older.  Loki rolled his eyes at her.  “You can’t pick both!” he insisted.

 

“Why not?” Tony piped up curiously, the first time he’d instigated any sort of interaction with the other children. Until now, it had been James or Clint or even Bruce who drew him into conversation.  “Aunt Peggy says that wishes are just dreams that haven’t come true yet.”

 

“I like your aunt,” Virginia decided. Tony startled and turned to look at her curiously.  “She’s smart,” the red-head stated matter-of-factly.

 

Tony’s smile was quicksilver and brilliant, and Maria wrapped her arms around Virginia’s shoulders, pulling her back. “She’s really smart!” Tony agreed.  “And pretty!  Dad says she – “ he paused, glancing at Bucky and Darcy, then leaned in – “kicks ass,” he finished in a stage whisper.

 

Virginia gasped. “That’s a bad word!” Maria hissed at Tony.  “You can’t say that!”

 

“Why not?” Tony retorted, though it was obvious that he knew he wasn’t supposed to curse.

 

Bucky bit back a grin; he remembered Peggy Carter from the war. She’d been a firecracker then, and he was sure she hadn’t changed one bit.  The last he’d heard, she was working for the SSR as a secretary, which couldn’t possibly make her happy.  The last time Steve had mentioned her, he’d just smiled and said that Peggy was ‘making do’.  Bucky still had no idea what he’d meant.

 

“Swearing isn’t nice,” Darcy admonished, cutting a glance at Bucky, who tried to look properly contrite. Honestly, out on the battlefield, cursing had come naturally.  It sounded odd coming from a four-year-old, sure, but Bucky had no doubt that Howard didn’t bother to censor himself around his son.  The man tended to talk first, and think much, much later.  Usually after somebody punched him.

 

“Wishes can be whatever you want them to be,” Bucky said, steering the children back on track. “Why don’t you each make two wishes?  One can be something you want to do when you grow up, and the other one can be something that you don’t think will come true.  You never know, it just might.”

 

The children considered that for a moment, and then there was a scramble for the colored strips of paper. Tony chose red and yellow.  Thor picked red and silver.  Loki grabbed green and gold, probably just to be contrary to his older brother.  Virginia picked purple and blue, and Natasha picked black and red – she’d have to write her wish with a white crayon.  Clint grabbed two purple strips.  James, Bruce, and Phil didn’t seem to have any color preferences, and just picked whatever was nearest to them.

 

Bucky and Darcy stood ready to help the children with their spelling if they asked, but honestly, it didn’t matter if they just jotted down scribble lines, or drew something. The idea was to get them thinking about what they wanted in the future, about what would make them happy.

 

“Done!” Clint said proudly, rolling his strips of purple paper into a circle and graciously allowing Darcy to tape them shut. They’d be putting blank rings between the wishes to make the chain longer.  Darcy was giggling quietly, and Bucky raised his eyebrows, wondering what she found so funny.

 

“You’re amazing, kid,” Darcy told the blond, ruffling his hair.

 

“Yep,” Clint agreed cheerfully. He leaned into Loki, who was working on his second wish, his eyes narrowed at the slip of paper as if it had personally offended him.  “What did you wish for?” he asked curiously. 

 

“None of your business,” Loki muttered, moving the papers away. That didn’t seem to bother Clint in the least, as he just shrugged and turned to Phil instead.  The older boy just sighed, but let Clint snag a slip of paper.

 

“Aw,” Clint frowned, crestfallen. Phil’s mouth twitched up into a small smile.  The slip of paper was completely blank.  It wasn’t one of the ones he was writing on.

 

Phil glanced at Clint’s downturned face, and slid over a different slip of paper. Clint brightened immediately as he took a peek, staring curiously at the slip of paper.  “What’s this word?” he asked, pointing.

 

Phil looked at it. “Government,” he enunciated carefully.  Clint made an impressed sound, and Phil paused.

 

“Like a spy?” Clint asked.

 

Phil considered that. “Maybe,” he said at last.  “Maybe something else.  My dad’s a Ranger.”

 

“You’re really smart!” Clint told him.

 

Phil blinked. “Thank you,” he replied politely, taking the slip of paper back.

 

The other children were starting to finish up, Darcy moving from child to child to tape their rings closed, then handing them off to Bucky, who connected them with blank strips of white construction paper – a color that hadn’t been an option for the children to choose from. He very carefully didn’t look at the wishes, ignoring it when Darcy shot him a knowing smirk.  So he believed in miracles.  So what? After all, he was alive and had all of his limbs, despite his prosthetic. It worked brilliantly, as most of Stark’s inventions did – whether or not they did what they were supposed to was an entirely different matter.

 

While he finished hanging the chain in a large circle above the play area, Darcy brought out the snacks – celery, peanut butter, and raisins today. The children were thrilled with their ‘Ants on a Log’ snack, and the room was quickly filled with giggles and the snap of celery by tiny teeth.

 

Darcy sidled up next to him. “So…playtime is next,” she crooned. Bucky grinned; playtime meant the children would pair up with their assigned partner, which was his favorite part of the day.  The kids in this room were incredibly varied, and he enjoyed seeing the way they interacted with each other.  Plus, playtime was usually outdoors, barring rain or excessive temperatures.  Today was a good day, sunny and warm, perfect September weather.

 

After playtime, the kids would get cleaned up and hopefully have naptime.

 

Hustling the kids into their jackets and shoes, Bucky made sure that they paired off properly – Clint and Thor, especially, tended to try and sneak away from their assigned partners – he opened the doors. Shrieking, laughing children spilled out into the yard, and Bucky could hear Darcy laughing as the two of them brought up the rear.

 

“Tag, d’you think?” he asked in an aside.

 

Darcy grinned. “Kickball,” she countered.  “It’s way more fun!”

 

At the childish exclamations coming from the children close enough to overhear, Bucky rolled his eyes. “All right, fine,” he sighed.  “Kickball it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick summary: Tony misses two days of class. Obie brings him in on the third day, with a minor wrist sprain and a busted lip, and states that it's from a 'mishap in his father's lab'. Bruce's mom shows up with a bruise up near her temple, which concerns Bucky, but doesn't really alarm him. The kids make wishing ring chains (the chains made of links of construction paper taped into circles around each other), then go outside. The kids are very excited about playing kickball.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony disappears, and Bucky panics.

Bucky was trying hard not to panic, and calling himself all kinds of an idiot. He’d only taken his eyes off of the boys for a second to check on Virginia, who’d fallen and scraped up both of her knees, and suddenly, Tony Stark was missing.  Darcy had been handling Natasha and Clint after the red-headed little girl dumped a bucket of sand on Clint’s head because he was ‘being a stupid-head’.  The two friends had decided against playing kickball with the rest, mostly because Bucky refused to let them use a basketball for the game, instead choosing something much softer.

 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Steve attempted to reassure him as he passed by him on his way towards the small climbing gym. Sam was already up inside one of the tunnels, his thinner form navigating the curves far better than Steve’s bulk would have.  The two men had stopped by just to say hi, though Bucky suspected that it had more to do with the fact that Steve adored children, and Sam was an enthusiastic enabler.  If following Steve to SHIELD meant that the blonde quit moping about missing out on two-point-five kids and a white picket fence, then he’d do it without a single qualm.  Bucky liked that about him.

 

“Not reassuring, Stevie,” he growled, turning to look at the child following him. “Loki,” he said, trying really hard to keep the anger and panic from his tone.  He wasn’t entirely certain he’d succeeded.  “Did Tony tell you where he was going?”

 

Loki shook his head adamantly. “No,” he denied, green eyes glittering.  Bucky had the sinking feeling that he found this whole thing amusing.  “Tony wished to play with James.”  He sounded almost insulted, and Bucky sighed.

 

“Loki, please go stay with Darcy,” he ordered. The raven-haired child considered him for a moment, then turned and walked back into the building, where Thor was waiting anxiously.  Bucky turned towards his best friend and his best friend’s lover.  “Any luck?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

 

“No, sorry, man,” Sam replied, hopping down a short ladder. “Any other ideas where he could’ve gone?”

 

Bucky shook his head, looking around in despair. How many places could a five-year-old possibly hide?  The fence around the yard didn’t have a gate – people had to go through the building or climb the fence, and while it was possibly that a particularly dexterous child might make it over the fence, Bucky hadn’t been distracted long enough for Tony to make it over.

 

“Bucky!” Darcy’s voice was surprisingly loud as she peeked her head around the door. Bucky could hear children crying behind her, startled by the shout.  As Bucky moved towards her – that tone hadn’t brooked any argument, his assistant turned around to speak to someone at her side.  Realizing what had happened, Bucky rushed towards the classroom, ignoring Steve and Sam as they called after him.

 

Tony was right inside, trying to pull his hand out of Darcy’s firm grip.   Bucky dropped to the ground, his hands gripping tiny shoulders, tense and shaking.  He took several deep breaths – yelling at Tony wouldn’t do any good.

 

The child watched him warily. “Tony,” Bucky started when he felt he could open his mouth without screaming, “you gave us a fright.  You know the rules.”

 

Tony’s mouth curved unhappily, and Darcy shifted a bit, getting Bucky’s attention. She flicked her eyes pointedly towards the gaggle of children, all grouped together and staring at the two of them. Bucky grimaced; he didn’t want to lecture Tony in front of all of his peers, but he didn’t want to drag the boy into his office, either.

 

“Hey, kids. Who wants a story?” Sam suggested, slipping inside and gripping Bucky’s shoulder awkwardly for a brief moment before moving towards the children.

 

“What sort of story?” Loki asked, his eyes narrowed.

 

“A story about Captain America and Falcon,” Sam replied easily enough, which set of a round of questions about who Falcon was. Bucky remembered Steve talking about the Falcon EXO-7 wings, but he hadn’t realized that Sam Wilson was one of the two paratroopers to have flown in them.  No wonder he and Steve got on so well; they were both reckless idiots.  Bucky might have to rethink their relationship.

 

But right now, he had the distraction he needed. “Steve, can you stay with Wilson and the kids?” he asked quietly.  His friend nodded.  “Darcy, with me, please.”  And with that, he stood up, offering Tony his hand.  When the child eyed him critically, as if he was thinking about running, Bucky waggled his hand.  “You can take my hand, or I can carry you,” he threatened softly.  Tony took his hand, and Bucky led the three of them into his office, Darcy acting as the buffer between them.

 

“Sit,” he ordered the child, watching as Tony hopped into one of the adult-sized chairs in the office. He made a note to see about furnishing the room with a few smaller chairs for the children.  With this class, he was starting to suspect he might need to use the office more often.

 

Deciding that sitting on the far side of the large desk would be unnecessarily authoritative of him, Bucky instead knelt next to Tony’s chair, careful not to box the child in. He was starting to see things in Tony that he didn’t like, and the last thing he wanted to do was to exacerbate the boy’s fear of large men.

 

“Tony, do you understand why you’re in trouble?” he asked carefully. Darcy was seated on the corner of Bucky’s desk, her hands braced on the wood and her legs swinging idly, her eyes wandering the room as she feigned disinterest in the proceedings.

 

Tony considered the question for a long moment, his brow furrowed. “No,” he said at last.  Bucky sighed; he’d been afraid of that. 

 

“Tony, while you are here, you are under my protection,” Bucky told him. “Which means that I am responsible if anything happens to you.  When I couldn’t find you, I got scared.”

 

Tony nodded. “Like when Mister Jarvis gets scared sometimes when Aunt Peggy goes missing,” he mused. 

 

Bucky nodded. “Yes, like that,” he agreed.  He didn’t point out that Tony was only four, and therefore physically less capable of defending himself or finding a means to escape than a full-grown adult might be; that was a sure-fire way to turn Tony angry and petulant.

 

“Tony,” Darcy called from where she was seated on Bucky’s desk, “why were you hiding? Were you playing a game?”

 

Tony shook his head. “No,” he admitted.  “I don’t wanna go home, but the fence is really high and there wasn’t enough time.”  Bucky breathed a sigh of relief; if he was completely honest, he was pretty sure that Tony might be able to wrangle some of the other children into helping him to distract them long enough for him to escape the yard entirely, but he wasn’t planning on pointing that out anytime soon.

 

“Why don’t you want to go home?” Bucky asked, taking control of the conversation again. “Surely your parents and Mister Jarvis are waiting for you?”

 

Tony scowled. “Jus’ Obie,” he muttered sullenly.  “An’ I don’t like him. He’s mean.”  Ah, the hateful cry of every young child when a parental figure put their foot down.  Still, Bucky remembered Obadiah’s firm grip on a slender shoulder that morning.  Perhaps there was more lying under his words than Tony was actually saying.

 

“Tony,” Bucky said slowly, “I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to think about it and answer me honestly, okay?” Tony eye d him warily, but nodded.  “How did you hurt your wrist?”

 

Tony’s flinch made Bucky’s stomach sink. “It was an accident,” the boy.  “I was in dad’s lab and Obie yelled really loudly, and I fell.”  Which was _almost_ exactly what Obadiah Stane had told him this morning.

 

“I see,” Bucky had said. “What were you doing in your father’s lab?”

 

Tony ducked his head, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Hiding,” he admitted with a quiet mumble, his fingers twisting together in a nervous habit. 

 

Bucky tipped his head as he considered the boy. “And were you hiding somewhere up high?” he asked.

 

Tony blinked, then shook his head. “No, I was ex – “ he paused, his brow furrowed, “ex- _per_ -i-ment-ing,” he sounded out carefully.  Bucky suppressed a grin; Tony was so well-spoken most of the time that it was interesting watching him have to sound something out like most of his peers.

 

“I see,” he said simply. Tony glanced up at him suspiciously, as if expecting Bucky to yell at him.  “Well, please be more careful in the future,” he asked.  Tony nodded solemnly, and Bucky smiled, standing up and holding out his hand.  “Now, if you’re done hiding, why don’t we go see what sort of lies Sam’s telling the children about Captain America, shall we?”

 

As Tony begrudgingly followed him back out to the main room, Bucky shared a worried look with Darcy. It might be time to call Nick Fury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally...the end is in sight! Sort of. Please feel free to give me a nudge if I messed something up. ^^;


	10. Chapter 10

“Did the brat actually say he was being abused by Obadiah Stane?” Nick asked, eyeing Bucky balefully with his one good eye. “Do we have an actual confession?”

 

Bucky ran his fingers through his hair in frustration; they’d been talking in circles for the last hour! “No, but you know he won’t!” he growled.  “They never do.”

 

Nick’s glower got impossibly darker. “Sit down,” he growled back.  Bucky thought about refusing, but decided it wasn’t worth the reprimand.  He threw himself into the closest chair, then grimaced in discomfort.  He was pretty sure that Fury had the most uncomfortable chairs in the world in his office to discourage unwanted guests from sticking around.

 

“Now, unless you have proof beyond a childish statement that one of his caretakers is mean – a caretaker, by the way, that Stark trusts with his company as well as his kid – and a tiny spill that led to a lightly sprained wrist and a busted lip, we will not take action.”

 

Bucky sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. Maybe he was overreacting.  Kids hurt themselves all the time, just by playing and getting into things they shouldn’t.  And who was to say that Obie had intentionally startled Tony.  The boy had never said what he’d been experimenting with, after all.  And given the sorts of things that Howard built for the army, there could be any number of deadly chemicals or sharp objects lying around.

 

Still, something in his gut churned at the thought of just letting it go. He didn’t know why, but all sorts of alarm bells had gone off when he’d met Stane.  And then Bruce and Mrs. Banner had niggled at him, too.  He had never met Mr. Banner, now that he thought about it.  But Bruce seemed fine, and Bucky wasn’t in the habit of getting involved in domestic disputes.  Not only did the perpetrator and victim usually deny the allegations, they often retaliated on the person who reported their suspicions.  Bruce was a sweet kid, intelligent and a bit shy when he wasn’t being provoked to violence by Clint or Loki; Bucky didn’t want to lose him.  Not yet.

 

Nick sighed, leaning back in his chair and tenting his fingers on the desk. “And is Miss Lewis also concerned?” he asked.  Darcy was taking the weekend to spend it with her boyfriend, Ian.  She had offered to come in with him, but Bucky had gently turned her down, explaining that the Director wouldn’t take kindly to the both of them bringing this to him.  She had grudgingly agreed.  Though, in retrospect, that might have had something to do with the fact that the last time she’d met the head of SHIELD, she had told him that the pirate look was about four centuries out of date.  Bucky was pretty sure Fury still hadn’t forgiven her for that.

 

Bucky frowned. “She’s worried that something’s up, but I think she’s more concerned that Tony was in his father’s workshop in the first place.”  Surely the room had locks or something to keep wandering children out?

 

Fury snorted. “Stark’s kid is too smart for his own good,” he muttered.  “He’s going to be nothing but trouble.  Just like his father.”

 

Bucky tried one more time. “Look, I just think that maybe we should have somebody look into it, discretely.  You’re friends with Stark, right?”

 

“Nice try,” Fury commended him, “but no. Keep an eye on him here.  If he comes in with more – or worse – injuries, let me know.  Otherwise, we do nothing but keep an eye out.  Understood?”  Bucky nodded unhappily.  “Good, now get the hell out of my office,” the director told him.

 

Bucky stood up and headed for the door. Pausing with a hand on the knob, he looked back.  “Thank you, sir,” he said, then left before the other man could throw something at him.  Or fire him.

 

“I take it things didn’t go well,” Steve said, sitting cross-legged on the floor just down the hall from Fury’s office.

 

Bucky paused, just staring at his friend in disbelief. “What’re you doin’ on the floor?” he demanded, rolling his eyes.  “Stupid punk.”  Steve just laughed, allowing Bucky to haul him to his feet.  Bucky used the prosthetic arm, spitefully hoping it would pinch him.  Steve’s grin widened when it didn’t.

 

“Darcy sent me a text,” he explained, fishing out his phone and showing Bucky the message that Darcy had sent.

 

_Hey, sexy. Your buddy is planning to talk to the pirate about Stark’s kid.  Make sure Fury doesn’t kill him, yeah?_

Bucky just sighed; Darcy was incorrigible and completely unrepentant. “Yeah, well, I basically just got a wait-and-see order,” he grumbled.

 

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You want me to check in on him?” he offered.  “I’m pretty sure Howard would still let me in if I asked to come by.  Though Tony might not be too happy.”

 

Bucky contemplated his friend for a long moment. Steve just shoved his hands in the pockets of jean and rocked on his heels, waiting him out.  “I…yeah, if it’s not too much trouble,” he said.  “But I don’t think Stark is home right now.  A new guy brought him in yesterday – Stane.”  Steve made a face, and Bucky smiled grimly.  “You don’t like him either, huh?” he asked.

 

Steve shrugged. “I dunno,” he admitted.  “I mean, he seems okay, but there’s something about him that worries me.  He pretty much runs the sales and presentation division of Stark Industries, handles all of their military defense and weapons contracts.”  He tilts his head to the side.  “And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me.”

 

Bucky held his hand over his heart and gasped dramatically. “Somebody doesn’t like Captain America?  Oh no, what has this country come to?  Eagles are dying, flags are burning, soldiers are weeping in their whiskey.”  He didn’t even bother to try and dodge the punch to his arm.

 

“You are an idiot,” his best friend told him.

 

Bucky just shrugged. “Yeah, probably.  But you like me anyhow.”

 

Steve threw an arm companionably around his shoulder. “Yeah, I do, punk.  Now, how about you come to our place for dinner?  We can strategize.”

 

Bucky leaned into his friend’s silent support for just a moment before pulling back. Steve let him go.  “Yeah, sounds good.”  Maybe today hadn't been a complete loss, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! The break I've been waiting for. Hopefully I'll have this story wrapped up soon, given that it's already a few months overdue.


	11. Chapter 11

Two days later, Bucky found himself staring down a brunette only slightly shorter than he was, with fire in her eyes and sharp words on her tongue. He remembered Agent Carter from the war; she’d been a tough dame then, and it seemed like time and peace hadn’t changed that in the least.  Tony was clinging happily to her left hand.  Jarvis was on the other side, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else right now.  Tony grinned up at him, and he smiled back helplessly.  Peggy saw the exchange.  “Tony, how would you like to give Mister Jarvis a tour?” she asked gently, her expression softening as she gazed down at the four-year-old.

 

“Okay!” Tony agreed cheerfully, letting go of her hand and pulling Jarvis over towards Maria and Phil, the first two children to have arrived this morning.

 

Peggy watched him indulgently for a moment, then turned back to face Bucky. “Mister Barnes,” she spoke crisply, “you do have an office here, do you not?”

 

Bucky winced. “Ah, yeah, Peg – ah, Miss Carter,” he corrected hastily. “Just a moment, please.  Darcy!” he called over his assistant, who skipped over towards the two of them, dragging her hapless boyfriend along with her.  Apparently Darcy’s car had a busted engine, so Ian was dropping her off and picking her back up until the shop had a chance to fix it.  Why he was still hanging around here, Bucky didn’t know.  Ian certainly didn’t look like he knew, either.

 

“Yes, boss?” she asked, smiling brightly at Peggy. “Hi, boss lady!” she greeted, holding out her hand.  Peggy gave it a firm shake, and Darcy grinned.  “You’re so pretty! And totally badass!” she gushed.  Behind her, a mini-chorus of _oohs_ and _“She said a bad word!”_ sprung up.  Darcy ignored them.

 

Peggy smiled. “You must be Miss Lewis,” she surmised.  “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.  Mostly good things,” she reassured.

 

Darcy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if it’s good, as long as it’s true,” she countered.  “But yeah, I’m pretty awesome.”  Bucky just sighed quietly in resignation, trying to ignore the headache that was starting to throb behind his eyes.

 

“Darcy, please keep an eye on the children,” he sighed. “Miss Carter and I have some things to discuss.”  Peggy’s amused look told Bucky clearly that he it wasn’t going to be a discussion so much as her talking and him shutting up and listening.

 

“Sure, no problem, boss man!” Darcy told him with a sloppy salute. “All right, kids, who wants to watch Ian juggle blocks?” she asked.  The kids cheered, and Bucky left them in Darcy’s capable hands, leading Peggy to his office.

 

The moment the door was closed behind them, Peggy whirled on him. “What’s this about Tony getting hurt?” she demanded, her eyes narrowed.

 

Bucky blinked; that wasn’t quite what he’d been expecting. “Ah, apparently he was in his father’s workshop, and Mr. Stane startled him, and he fell.  It was an accident,” he parroted.

 

Peggy’s eyes narrowed furiously. “That idiot,” she hissed. “I’ve told him not to let Tony into the lab.  I keep expecting that he’ll blow himself up one of these days.”

 

Bucky settled into his chair in relief, steepling his fingers together. “I suspect that Tony is perfectly capable of bypassing Howard’s security measures,” he replied drolly.  “His security measures were never that impressive to begin with.”

 

“Unless you count the time he electrified all the doors,” Peggy murmured. Bucky barked a laugh. Howard’s experiments were highly unpredictable at the best of times, and dangerously lethal at the worst.  Bucky was lucky that Steve had been the victim of Howard’s mishaps more often than he had.  It almost made the time spent as a POW worth it, to hear the tales that Steve told of the situations that Howard got them into on a semi-regular basis.

 

“Still, I heard from Nicholas,” Peggy said, sobering up. “Now, tell me.  What do you suspect?  And why?”  Her look told him that he’d better start talking, and that whatever he had to say had better be good.

 

Bucky grimaced. “Look, I may have been…overreacting a bit,” he admitted.  “Tony missed a couple of days, and when he came in, he had a sprained wrist and a busted lip. A fall would explain it.”

 

Peggy nodded. “Yes, it would,” she agreed.  “But this isn’t the first time Tony’s had an accident while Obadiah’s been watching over him.”

 

Bucky was standing before he realized it, leaning towards Peggy almost eagerly. “Tell me,” he insisted, eyes sharp as he watched Peggy’s face.

 

Carter shrugged, leaning back and shaking her head. “Obadiah is even less used to little kids than Howard,” she sighed.  “Unfortunately, Mister Jarvis has been helping me with an assignment and was unavailable for a few days.”

 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “But he’s had other injuries?  Other than sprained wrists and busted lips?”

 

Peggy nodded, pulling a file out of her satchel and dropping it onto Bucky’s desk with a solid thud.   The file was several inches thick.  Peggy stood up.  “I’m afraid that I have much to do today, so I think we’ll leave it there for now.”  She cut Bucky a sharp look, and he froze in the act of lifting the top flap of the file.  “I’m entrusting you with my precious godson, Sergeant Barnes.  Don’t mess it up.”

 

Bucky swallowed. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered helplessly.

 

Peggy scrutinized him for a moment longer, then nodded. “I expect you to keep me up to date on everything, Sergeant,” she informed him.

 

Bucky nodded. “That won’t be a problem.  He’s a good kid.” 

 

Peggy smiled. “Yes, he is,” he agreed.  And then she was gone, just as quickly as she’d come.  Bucky stared at the door for a few seconds, certain that when he made it back out to the main room, Peggy Carter would be gone, and Edwin Jarvis with her.

 

With a quiet sigh of relief, Bucky tucked the file into a desk drawer and locked it. He’d take the time to peruse it later.  Right now, though, he had a bunch of little kids to wrangle into some semblance of order so they could do today’s craft, finger painting.  He grinned roguishly, even though there was nobody to see it.  He was going to put Darcy on cleanup duty, because despite the fact that the finger paints _said_ they’d wash out with warm water and soap, they really, really wouldn’t.

 

He could hear the children giggling before he reached the office door, and he quickened his pace; that particular sound usually meant that the children thought they were being clever, the troublemaking brats that they were.

 

Turning the corner, Bucky paused for a moment to take in the scene. The kids had already found the paints, apparently, given that their tiny hands were covered in a multitude of colors, not to mention their clothes and hair and faces.  They were standing on the play carpet in more or less of a circle, with Ian sitting in the middle.   He was covered in paint, and his eyes were darting around, no doubt looking for Darcy to rescue him.  Bucky supposed he should be glad that they had put the paper down first so as to not ruin the rug.

 

“Children, this isn’t how we use finger paint,” he chided as he approached.

 

Eight sets of eyes turned to him, but it was Tony who spoke, a small frown on his face. “But it’s finger paint,” he said.  “We’re using our fingers.”  He held up his right hand – covered in yellow paint – up in demonstration.  “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”  He widened his eyes innocently; Bucky wasn’t fooled for a moment, though he secretly admitted that four-year-old Tony Stark was really darn cute when he wanted to be.

 

“You’re also supposed to wait for Darcy and myself, and use the paper,” he answered. He paused for a moment.  “Use the paper to paint on,” he amended, because technically, they were using the paper…to protect the rug.

 

Bucky turned his eyes to the harassed Ian. “Speaking of Darcy,” he prompted.

 

Ian blinked up at him. “Umm….I don’t know, sir,” he managed to answer after a long silence.  “The lady you were with came out, and she said she had to take care of something really quick to take care of, but that you’d be out and the kids would be fine for two minutes.”

 

Bucky felt his eyebrows raise. “Is that so?” he wondered out loud.  “Where has she been for the past two weeks? Because it certainly hasn’t been here, if she thinks she can take her eyes off this lot for even a second.”  The children giggled at the admonishment, and with a quiet sigh, Bucky scooped up the nearest child, who happened to be Clint, and shifted him onto his hip.  Immediately, the sandy-haired child latched onto the front of his shirt with a purple hand, and Bucky sighed again.  Natasha giggled – and promptly grabbed his left pants leg, her own hands covered in bright red paint.  Phil just grinned, seemingly content to follow them over to the sink at his leisure, but at least he didn’t try to grab onto Bucky in the process.  He was probably the cleanest of the children, with only three fingertips colored red, white, and blue respectively.  Steve would be flattered.

 

“Come on, kids,” Bucky called, resigned. “And please don’t touch _anything_.”  Loki promptly smacked his green-covered hand against the nearest wall and dragged it for a few inches, leaving a streak of paint on the wall that had been pale yellow not a moment before.  Thor made a face at his brother and grabbed his hand, tugging him along, the two of them trailing green and gold footprints in their wake as they tussled.

 

Bruce – who had at least been painting on the actual paper – peered up at him consideringly for a moment before standing up to follow as well, his hand reaching up to shove at the curls that had fallen into his eyes, leaving patches of white and green paint in his hair.

 

Sending up a quick prayer for patience – and just one day with no disasters or messes to clean up – Bucky called back to the boy still sitting on the floor. “Come on, Ian.  Let’s get you cleaned up, too.”  The college student scrambled to his feet, practically tripping over them as he hurried after Bucky and the laughing, mischievous children who tagged along after Bucky in a meandering herd.

 

Setting Clint on the counter next to the large sink in the back of the classroom, Bucky turned on the water…then promptly grabbed for Clint, who had tried to slide off the counter and nearly fallen flat on his face. Holding the squirming, pouting child with one hand, Bucky tested the water with the other, making sure it wasn’t too hot before he tried to get the children somewhat clean.  Cleanish.   He’d settle for cleanish at this point.

 

Darcy swept back in, carrying a couple of large paper bags that were stapled shut at the top. All eyes immediately swiveled towards her, some curious, others – mainly Bucky’s and Ian’s – pleading.  Darcy set down her burdens at the craft table, then looked up, blinking at them.  “What happened to you all?” she demanded.  The children giggled, holding out their hands to show her the coloring fiends they were, and Darcy’s mouth curved up into a grin, widening slowly as she took in the two men that were messier than the children.  “Very nice,” she told the children, who preened at the encouragement.

 

“Darcy,” Bucky pleaded. Because he wasn’t whining.  Definitely not.  He was the adult here, and Darcy was supposed to be an adult, too.  Which meant acting like a grownup and not encouraging the children to cause trouble.

 

“Purple’s not really a flattering color on you,” his assistant observed blandly, walking over and snagging Loki and Thor on the way. Her eyes took in Ian, and she beamed.  “See, Ian?  The kids are great, aren’t they?”

 

Ian looked back and forth between his girlfriend and Bucky before nodding cautiously. Bucky didn’t blame him; if he was Darcy’s boyfriend, he’d probably find it safer to agree with everything she said, too.  “Darcy,” he sighed again.

 

His assistant grinned at him, setting Loki on the other side of the sink from Clint, where the two boys glared at each other. But at least it meant that they were too busy eyeing each other to try and escape while Bucky and Darcy got them washed up.  The children still on the floor, including a smug Tony who was leaning against James and trying to grab Bruce’s hand, milled around aimlessly, bored.  When Darcy noticed a few of them drifting away, she started a rousing rendition of the Fast Food song, which the children enjoyed acting out.  Bucky focused on the child he was washing up and ignored the fact that the children were leaving paint everywhere.  Fortunately, it was mostly dry by this point, so it was more paint chips than actual paint.

 

As he finished with Clint, he set the child down on the floor – away from the other children. “Please sit at the table, Clint,” he asked nicely – the rug was still covered in the paint-covered paper.  “Ian, I’m sorry, but could you please get the rug cleaned up while we finish up here?”

 

The other man, now relatively clean and with damp hair and clothes, just nodded, edging away from Natasha and Maria, who had slowly been inching closer to him with obvious intent. Bucky scooped up Tony, watching as Darcy traded out Loki for his brother Thor.  Bruce and Phil, as the cleanest of the children, would be going last.  Bucky just sighed and got to work.

 

Twenty minutes later, all of the children were as clean as they were going to get, and Bucky had explained why finger painting was to be an adult-supervised activity from that point forward. Ian still had a bit of paint on his right cheek that Darcy was teasing him about good-naturedly while he scrubbed ineffectually at his skin.

 

Making a quick head count, Bucky nodded, satisfied that all of the children were present and accounted for. He didn’t need to ask if Darcy had made sure all of the parents were greeted as SHIELD took custody of the children for the day; she knew her job, and she did it well.  Bucky glanced at the paper bags, just as curious as the children who were now poking at them, but unwilling to admit it.

 

With a grin, Darcy tore open one of the bags. A riot of brightly colored beads and bits of gold and silver wiring spilled out.  A second bag yielded feathers and ropes of suede.  And the last one contained a riot of what Bucky supposed was homemade jewelry.  The girls’ eyes widened, and the boys just looked confused.  “What’s this?” Thor asked curiously, never afraid to ask a question.

 

“It’s jewelry,” James told him with all the gravity of a four-year-old departing wisdom to a companion. “It’s for girls.”

 

Darcy grinned. “Not only for girls,” she disagreed.  “Your dad wears a watch sometimes, right?  And a ring?”  James nodded, his expression shifting in consideration.

 

“Aye, father wears an eye patch,” Thor said wisely. Bucky shoved a fist in his mouth; he was pretty sure that didn’t count.  And heaven forbid that Fury overheard that.  “But mother wears more,” the child added.

 

“Yes, well, we’re going to make some jewelry today for your parents!” Darcy told them cheerfully. Bucky grimaced, glancing down at his prosthetic. He’d help where he could, but the metal arm wasn’t exactly made for fine work with thin bits of metal and cheap plastic beads.

 

The rules were simple; they could make two pieces of jewelry each, whatever kind they wanted. Darcy and Bucky would come around and help them where they could – Ian, as well, having been volunteered by Darcy.  Bucky sort of wished Steve was here today; he liked artsy things.

 

The children, surprisingly, undertook their craft assignment seriously, especially the girls. But even Loki seemed genuinely interested, working on what Bucky was pretty sure was a tiara, possibly for his mother.  James was making a bracelet, as was Phil.  Maria and Virginia had chosen to make necklaces, but Natasha was making a very wide bracelet.  When Darcy asked what she was working on, she was informed very seriously that it was an armband.  She’d once had a friend that wore one around her upper arm, and Natasha had thought it was really pretty.

 

Clint had taken a chain and metal wires and some of the pre-made charms, and was making an arrow necklace. There was another arrow set nearby that he kept glancing at, so he was probably making a matched pair.  Bucky wasn’t terribly surprised when the child poked his neighbor, James, to see what the other boy was making, careful not to jostle him too hard and mess up his work.

 

Bruce was working on a set of earrings for his first piece of jewelry, having clarified that a set of earrings only counted as one of his two allowed pieces of jewelry, which Darcy had found charming. Bucky wasn’t entirely sure what Thor was making, but it was very colorful, and he was very enthusiastic about it, winding thread and wires through beads and attaching feathers somewhat haphazardly.

 

Tony was hunched over his work protectively, not even letting James see it. When Bucky approached, he looked up at him, tiny fists still wrapped around whatever he was working on.  Tony’s eyes shifted down, seeking out Bucky’s prosthetic.  Bucky was wearing long sleeves again, so only his hand was showing.

 

Flexing his hand somewhat self-consciously, Bucky watched as Tony’s eyes followed the movement, riveted. Crouching next to the dark-haired child, Bucky held out the metal hand.  “You can touch it if you want to,” he offered, twitching his fingers invitingly, listening to the faint clicks it made as it calibrated for the tiny movements.

 

Tony eyed him warily for a long, tense moment, but when all Bucky did was wiggle his hand again, he reached out to touch his finger quickly to the soldier’s forearm. When nothing happened, Tony looked to him for permission, then set down what he was working on beside him on the chair and reached out to wrap both hands around Bucky’s wrist, peering intently at the delicate plating.  “Dad made this,” he said quietly, certain of it.  He touched a small spot on Bucky’s wrist that hid a component that was designed to kill the arm in case it shorted out or started sending false signals to Bucky’s nervous system.  It hadn’t happened yet, but the soldier in him was glad to know that he could stop feedback from the arm without having to remove it entirely.

 

“It’s his design, yes,” Bucky replied carefully. “A surgeon at the hospital actually attached it.”  Doctor Cho was a pioneer in her field, and had come highly recommended by Howard.  Since it was Stark tech being attached to his nerves, Bucky had chosen to follow that recommendation and had asked her to perform the surgery.

 

Tony nodded seriously. “Doctor Cho used to be my doctor,” he confided in a hushed whisper.  “But Obie didn’t like her, so dad takes me to another doctor now.”  Stane again.  Bucky was really starting to not like the man.

 

Seeming to realize that he might be spilling family secrets, Tony released Bucky’s wrist. “Thank you,” he said politely, turning back to his project.

 

Bucky paused for a moment, debating, but then moved on down the table. Now was not the time, with all the other children surrounding them.  He’d try to talk to Tony again later.

 

To his surprise, Bucky found that he actually enjoyed helping the children with their jewelry. Darcy had been deemed the expert in all things shiny by the kids, and even Ian was pretty good with the more delicate work.  Bucky, for the most part, was relegated to holding things while the children picked out the perfect beads, or answering questions like whether boys like blue or green better.  And then there was the heated debate between Maria and Virginia about whether or not it was okay to give heart-shaped jewelry to one’s father.  Bucky explained to them patiently that fathers loved anything their children made, no matter what shape or color it was.

 

As the children finished up, Darcy handed them each two small fabric pouches and a couple of tags so they could mark what gift was for each person. Bucky knelt by Tony again.  “There was a limit of two, Tony,” he admonished quietly.

 

The boy looked at him for a moment, then looked down at the three bags in his lap. “Yeah, but I couldn’t decide,” he admitted.  “And Bruce only wanted to make one.”  Bucky glanced over at the other boy, who nodded in agreement, holding up his own bag.

 

“I see,” he said quietly. “But that doesn’t change the rules.  Two gifts per child, even if they choose not to make all of what they’re allowed.”  He was keeping his voice down so that the whole table couldn’t hear them, but he needed Tony to understand that rules weren’t something that could be dodged or worked around just because he was smart enough to find a loophole in the wording.

 

Tony nodded, looking down at his lap. “Do I have to take one apart?” he asked softly, and Bucky winced, recognizing the sound of impending tears in the boy’s throat.  He hadn’t meant to make the child cry.

 

“No, Tony. What’s done is done, and I won’t make you take something apart that you worked so hard on.  I just want to make sure that you understand that breaking the rules is not okay,” he murmured.  Tony swallowed, swiping roughly at his eyes, and Bucky’s heart went out to him.  “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he hushed him, allowing Tony to lean against his shoulder.  The boy wasn’t crying, not yet, but his breath was hitching, and Bucky glanced up at Ian, who happened to be standing nearby.  The kid took one look at Buck and Tony and nodded, turning to speak with his girlfriend.

 

“Hey, kids, time to get cleaned up and go outside,” Darcy said. Immediately, children started scrambling down from their chairs, bringing their presents over to their assigned cubbies before putting on shoes.  Bruce hesitated for a moment, but Bucky gave him a reassuring smile, and he slid down as well, one hand reaching out to pat Tony awkwardly on his shoulder.

 

Once the room was cleared out, Darcy throwing a wink his way, Bucky sighed. He really should have Darcy in here, he knew, but with nine rambunctious children, it would take all of her concentration – and Ian’s drafted help – to keep an eye on them.

 

Bucky just knelt there for long moments, waiting while Tony’s breath hitched and caught and eventually evened out. Not once did the sniffles devolve into actual tears, though, and Bucky wondered if that was normal, or if he had been taught that crying was bad and weak and unnecessary.  He closed his eyes briefly, not wanting to see George’s face, filled with self-loathing at his own weakness – just before he was killed in a surprise attack.

 

When Tony finally settled, Bucky let him pull back. “Okay?” he asked.  Tony nodded, wiping angrily at his eyes.  “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bucky told him.  “It’s over.”

 

Tony peered at him suspiciously, giving another sniffled. “’M not in trouble,” he muttered, his voice still thick with mucus and unshed tears.  Bucky retrieved a box of tissues from the table and set about cleaning Tony’s face.

 

“No, you’re not in trouble,” he said. “You know you broke the rules, but Darcy and I weren’t very clear, either.  Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been able to figure out a way around them.”  That wasn’t true, strictly speaking – children could find their way around pretty much any rule – but it was close enough.  They had left the opening there, and Tony had been smart enough to take it.  Bucky was kind of impressed, if he was honest with himself.

 

“So…” he drawled once Tony was composed again, “are we good?”

 

Tony blinked at him, then nodded. “We’re good,” he parroted back.  Bucky stood up with a quiet groan, and Tony gave him a small smile, even if it was still a bit wobbly.  “Mister Jarvis does that, too,” he offered up shyly.  “He says he’s getting old.  Are you old, too?”

 

Bucky huffed a laugh. “Not that old, kid,” he answered lightly. “But some days, my bones _feel_ that old.”  He held out his flesh hand.  “Now come on, then.  How about we go outside with the others?”

 

Tony grinned, hopping easily off the chair and onto the floor before taking his presents over to his cubby. Walking back to Bucky, he took the older man’s hand and tugged him towards the door where they could hear the other children playing.

 

Just before they stepped outside, Tony paused and looked up at him. “Mister Bucky?” he said.  “When I get in trouble at home, mom makes me clean my room and say sorry.”  He took a quiet breath.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I’ll help you clean up tonight before Mister Jarvis gets here.”

 

Bucky smiled down at his charge. “You’re forgiven,” he replied solemnly. “And I would be happy for your help.”  He paused.  “Maybe we can let Miss Darcy go a little early, huh?  Seeing as she has a boyfriend and all.”  He made a face.

 

Tony’s childish laughter followed them outside, to be lost in the sound of screaming, happy children. Darcy smiled at them from the corner, and Bucky smiled back.

 

He really did love his job.


	12. Chapter 12

Several hours later, Bucky remembered why he didn’t always love his job.  He was flipping through Tony’s medical chart, pausing on occasion to take a closer look at the incidents that stood out.  A broken leg from falling out of a tree; a fractured collarbone from a hard tumble; an allergic reaction to latex from gloves worn in a lab – when Tony normally wore nitrile gloves if he was allowed anywhere near the lab.  But there were other ones, less obvious.  A couple of bruises here, a black eye there, a scrape on the back of his calf, a sprained ankle or a sore arm.  Nothing obvious, injuries that any energetic child could get just from running around and climbing things they weren’t supposed to.  Still, when he looked at it all as a whole, it seemed pretty damning.

 

But the part that he didn’t understand was why, if Peggy had all of this information, she had never done anything about it.  Or Jarvis.  Bucky could see how much he clearly loved Tony, so how had he not felt like anything was out of place?  Was Stane really that good at misleading those around him so that nobody else suspected anything?  Or had they tried, and the allegations were denied, perhaps by Tony himself?  Perhaps they felt that if they reported their suspicions, and weren’t believed, they would no longer be able to see Tony, and they weren’t willing to risk that as long as the injuries could be written off as childhood misadventures.

 

Bucky, though, what did he have to lose?  The worst that could happen, if he was honest, was that he would be fired from SHIELD, that Nick Fury would have no choice but to let him go to placate Howard Stark.

 

Bucky shivered; he didn’t want to go back to his aimless wandering, too spooked to be around other adults, too tense and uptight to work around loud noises and the throngs of people that were everywhere in New York.  He’d have to go learn to be a farmer or some such nonsense, go where his triggers were unlikely to be set off, and where no innocents would get hurt if they were.

 

“Hey, hey,” the sudden voice made him jump, and Bucky found himself in a crouch behind his desk before he realized who the voice belonged to.  Darcy was, very intelligently, staying over by the door, far enough that Bucky didn’t feel cornered.  He blinked at her stupidly for a moment, but didn’t attack.  Being surrounded by the remnants of child’s play probably had a lot to do with that, some part of him recognizing that he was in a safe place, even if the children weren’t here right now.

 

“Oh,” he rumbled, his voice hoarse, hating the way his teeth were grinding together.  He worked his jaw for a moment, trying to relax, but he stayed crouched down, his fingers itching for a weapon he didn’t have.  He knew he was safe, that Darcy was no threat, but his hindbrain was still very, very unhappy at being surprised.  “What?” he bit out, perhaps a bit more forcefully than he meant to.  With a grimace, he heaved himself to his feet.

 

Darcy leaned casually against the doorframe.  “Nothin’,” she said lightly.  “I just thought you might like to know that one of the kids left a present behind.”

 

Bucky felt his brows furrow in confusion.  “So we’ll be sure to send it with them tomorrow,” he shrugged.  Darcy’s grin widened.  “What?” Bucky asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at his assistant.

 

It was Darcy’s turn to shrug. “Oh, nothing much,” she replied airily.  “But this gift is exactly where it’s supposed to be.”  She pulled her hand out from where it had been leaning against the doorframe behind her back, a small jewelry pouch hanging from her fingers.  “Catch!” she said, tossing it at him.

 

Bucky’s hand reached out and snagged it out of the air, turning his hand over to stare at the innocuous black pouch sitting on his palm.  Sure enough, the small tag on it that they used to identify who the presents were for had _Bucky_ written on it in childish handwriting.  His eyes widened in surprise, and he looked up – to ask Darcy to stay or tell her to leave, he didn’t know – but she was already gone.  His eyes were drawn back to the pouch, and he realized that his hand was shaking.

 

Fumbling behind him, Bucky grabbed his chair and settled back into it, setting the innocuous bag on his desk.  He recognized the hand-writing, surprisingly legible for any four-year-old who couldn’t have been writing for more than a few months at this point.  Tony Stark had made him a piece of jewelry.  Tony had dodged the rules to make the aforementioned gift.

 

He didn’t know how long he sat at his desk, staring at the bag before he finally reached for it, holding it carefully in his prosthetic hand while he tugged on the drawstrings, tipping the bag upside down and spilling the piece of jewelry into his hand.  It was a necklace on a simple silver chain.  The charm was a round blue stone, with thin silver wire wrapped around it in a pattern that probably made sense to the four-year-old who had made it.

 

It was…beautiful, Bucky thought, his hands trembling a bit as he opened the latch, lifting it and hooking it behind his neck.  It dropped to rest just below the dip of his collarbones under his shirt, cool against his skin, though it warmed quickly.

 

“You coming, boss-man?” Darcy asked, leaning in the doorway with a wide grin.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, standing up with a put-upon sigh.  “Isn’t your boy supposed to have picked you up?” he grumbled.

 

Darcy grinned.  “Yup,” she drawled, popping the ‘p’ at the end.  “He’s actually waiting out front. We have date night tonight.  So if you’d get a move on, I can go home and get a bubble bath and a massage.”

 

Bucky pulled a face.  “I do not need to know about your love life,” he told Darcy.  She gave him wide, innocent eyes and a small pout, but it was broken a moment later when she grinned.

 

“Yeah, well, if you don’t hurry up, I’m just going to have to call him back in here and wax poetic about the things I had planned for tonight that you ruined.  Now, come on, slowpoke!”

 

With a mock growl, Bucky followed her out, his hand playing absently with the pendant on his neck. 

 

Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed Tony’s file on the way out, tucking it securely under his arm.

 

He had a lot to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: time skip! As in...we're jumping forward by a few months. :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things go downhill very quickly in this chapter. Consider yourself warned.

Bucky looked around the room in satisfaction. Darcy had done a fantastic job with the decorations, covering the room in red and gold streamers and balloons.  The craft table had a centerpiece made by all the children, a large box with curled ribbons and glittery star stickers, the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY written in marker, each letter written in a different color by one person – Bucky, Darcy, Steve, Sam, and all nine children, not including the birthday boy, of course.

 

Tony’s family and friends had been invited as well. Howard and Maria had been unable to attend, as they were out of town for a charity event.  Peggy Carter was there with her husband Daniel, as were Edwin and Ana Jarvis.  And Obadiah Stane, who had come in lieu of Tony’s parents.  Bucky couldn’t help but wish that the other man had taken the hint and not bothered to come – Bucky hadn’t sent him an invitation.

 

The children were over on the play rug, playing with tiny robots that Bucky had brought in from his own collection. It had seemed like a silly obsession at the time, bots of various shapes and sizes with motors in them, but the children had taken one look at them, and sent them to war with each other.  It had amused Darcy endlessly, and even Bucky had to admit that it was kind of funny.

 

Sam was over there, sitting with the kids, cheering them on, looking sort of like an excited kid himself.

 

A nudge to his back made him stumble, and Bucky looked back at a grinning Steve Rogers. “You just gonna stand there all day?” he asked.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, giving his best friend a playful shove. “Why don’t you go keep an eye on your boyfriend?” he snarked back.  “I’m pretty sure if you don’t, he’s gonna start flirting with that pretty brunette friend of yours.”

 

Steve frowned, looking around. “Who? Peggy?” he asked, confused, turning to find her.  Peggy and Daniel were over speaking with Ana and Jarvis, keeping half an eye on the children while they chatted. 

 

Bucky grinned, gesturing to where Sam was crouched near the children, talking to Tony, who was chattering excitedly about his robots in between bouts of pummeling his current opponent, Thor.  He’d already beaten Natasha’s eight-limbed monstrosity, and Bucky had started making a mental list of the parts he’d need to buy to repair the bot.  Apparently being the birthday boy meant Tony didn’t have to take turns like the other children. 

 

Tony was laughing delightedly as the robots crashed together with a dull grinding noise. His bot was painted red, white, and blue, with a shield on the back where normally a spare tire would go on a car.  Bucky didn’t know what Steve had done, but somewhere between kicking Steve in the shins and now, Tony had decided that Captain America was awesome again, and spent his time getting Steve to tell him stories about Bucky and the Howling Commandoes, which Steve cheerfully relayed back to Bucky during their weekly phone calls.

 

Bucky’s fingers rubbed the pendant again as Steve chuckled next to him. “Aw, you’re just jealous,” Steve teased. Just then, Tony looked up from where his robot had just gotten flattened by Thor’s hammer-wielding battler and caught sight of Bucky.  He grinned widely, and Bucky smiled back helplessly.  Next to Tony, Bruce looked up as well and blinked at him, pushing his new glasses further up his nose as he offered the two men a shy smile. 

 

“He seems to have taken quite the shine to you,” Obadiah spoke up from behind him, making Bucky jump without thinking. Stane was watching him with sharp eyes.  “Tony doesn’t take to a lot of adults,” he added with a wide, oily grin.  Bucky kind of wanted to back away slowly, but he stood his ground.  Men like Stane enjoyed intimidating others, and giving ground would only make him push harder.  Bucky was a soldier, goddammit.  No two-bit salesman was going to get the best of him.

 

“Tony does just fine with all the adults here,” Bucky replied politely, his eyes hooded as he considered the man standing before him. “He’s a very intelligent child.”

 

Stane laughed, and the whole room paused for a moment before going back to their conversations. Tony had given up his spot in the circle and was watching them warily.  “Oh, the boy’s intelligence was never in doubt,” he chuckled.  “He’s Howard’s kid, after all.  There’s no way he could be anything less.”  He met Tony’s eyes and his smile turned just a shade meaner.  “Unfortunately, he’s willful like his father, too,” he lamented.  Tony flinched.

 

Bucky shifted just slightly, but it was enough to put his body between Stane and Tony. He stared the other man down.  “Tony listens very well,” he said evenly.  “But he’s not afraid to question the rules if he finds fault with them.  There’s nothing wrong with that, and it will undoubtedly serve him well in the future.”  He was familiar with Stark Industries, and he rather suspected that when Howard handed over the reins, a lot of people – Obadiah Stane included – were going to try and tell Tony what he could and couldn’t do.  Bucky just hoped the boy was strong enough to do things his way.  He already had the intelligence to succeed, and if anybody could find a way around the rules, it would be Tony.

 

For a moment, Stane’s expression turned downright hostile, and Bucky met his gaze steadily, his body straightening almost imperceptibly, falling into soldier mode. If Stane knew what was good for him, he’d back down before Bucky was forced to take him on in a room full of children.

 

“Obadiah, Bucky,” Peggy Carter said, her heels making barely any sound on the carpeted floor. “Do I need to separate you like a couple of squabbling children?”  She was looking at Bucky, but her attention was focused entirely on Stane, who stiffened for a moment before deliberately relaxing, turning around to greet the brunette with a well-rehearsed smile.

 

“Carter, how wonderful that you could make it,” he murmured. “I hear congratulations are in order.”  Peggy’s hand twitched towards her stomach, and Bucky recognized the gesture, his eyes widening.  Peggy Carter was pregnant.  Bucky glanced back at Peggy’s husband, Daniel.  The man just smiled at him, obviously proud, leaning heavily on his crutch as he picked his way over to them.

 

Peggy ignored Stane’s obvious ploy, instead looking over towards the children. She frowned, her eyes narrowing.  “Where’s Tony?” she demanded.

 

Bucky whirled around, taking in the loose circle of children and counting heads. James, Maria, Virginia, Clint, Natasha, Thor, Loki, Phil, Bruce.  No Tony. _Shit._

 

He didn’t hear Stane’s reply as he walked over towards the children and Sam, who looked up at him curiously. “Hey, Barnes, what’s up?” he greeted.

 

“Where’s Tony?” Bucky didn’t mince words; he got straight to the point.

 

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Umm…bathroom, I think,” he said.  “He said he had to use the bathroom and headed that way.”  He pointed over to the left, which did, indeed, lead to the bathrooms.  Unfortunately, it also led outside.  Which was why Bucky insisted on being notified when any of the children had to use the bathroom, and why he utilized the buddy system.

 

“Thanks,” he said shortly, moving in that direction with Wilson’s puzzled acknowledgment falling flat between them. It wasn’t unusual for one of the children to wander off from the rest of the pack – most of them had done it at one time or another – but after the first time Tony had hidden from them, the boy had been careful to make sure that Bucky or Darcy knew where he was.  Bucky glanced over at Darcy, who just shook her head.

 

“Dammit, Tony,” Bucky muttered under his breath, leaving the room at a brisk pace, careful not to alarm the children. Moving down the hall and stopping in front of a door, Bucky knocked on the bathroom door, hoping Tony was actually in there.  There was no answer, and the back of his neck was prickling in that awful way that said he was being watched.

 

“Tony?” he tried, knocking again. Still no answer, and he reached for the knob.  “I’m coming in,” he warned, just in case the boy was being stubborn and refusing to answer.  He certainly wouldn’t be the first child to have done so.

 

Opening the door, Bucky stepped inside, already knowing what he’d find. The bathroom was only designed for one person at a time, and there really wasn’t anywhere to hide.

 

Swallowing down his panic, Bucky backed out of the room, catching movement in the corner of his vision. He turned his head, but nobody was there, and he scowled, his flesh hand coming up to rub irritably at the back of his neck, his prosthetic arm whining in protest as he clenched it into a fist.

 

A moment later, Peggy came around the corner, heading straight for him at a determined march. She looked at him, the question easy to read on her face, in the narrowing of her eyes and the tightness around her mouth.

 

Bucky shook his head even as he turned away, heading for the doors that would lead to the outside. If Tony had gone back to the room with the other children, Peggy would have told him.  And then slapped him for being so careless despite her warnings.

 

Jarvis was coming around the corner as Bucky shoved his way out the doors, cursing silently. He knew he should have checked them first – the doors were kept locked except for when the children were playing outdoors.  But they were unlocked now, even the locks that should have been too high for Tony to reach.  And as soon as he found the boy, he was going to figure out how he managed to open that door.

 

“Anthony Edward Stark!” Peggy called, stalking outside behind Bucky and looking around, hands on her hips. “So help you if you’re out here hiding on your birthday!”  Bucky stilled, listening, but Tony didn’t answer, or come out from hiding.  Quickly, he strode over to the wooden playhouse, bending down so he could open the doors and crawl inside.  Thanks to some generous donations, the playhouse was a massive structure that was almost big enough for Bucky to climb around in comfortably, made of smooth, treated wood and sturdy enough to support more than a dozen children climbing within its walls and tunnels.  There were stairs and ladders and slides for the children, and windows in the various tunnels that they could peer out of.

 

Bucky squirmed his way up the ladder that led to the tunnels and took the first one, calling Tony’s name. He peered out one of the portals – made with actual bullet-resistant glass, no less – and caught sight of the others now.  Peggy was walking along the fence, looking worried, her fingers running along the wooden posts, probably checking for any broken or loosened pieces that Tony could have slipped through.  Daniel was on the other side, walking towards his wife; they’d meet in the middle shortly.  Jarvis was checking in the bushes along the wall, close enough to the building to make a tight fit even for a child as small as Tony.  Even Steve was out there, heading towards Bucky and the playhouse, undoubtedly determined to take the other side.  Before Bucky could turn him away, Sam hurried out the door and caught up to him, gripping Steve’s shoulder.

 

After a short conversation, Steve turned on his heels and went back inside, undoubtedly to help Darcy keep the other children from getting too curious about where Tony and most of the adults had gone. Sam moved towards Bucky at a determined pace, meeting his stare through the portal.  He nodded, and Bucky pulled away, continuing his path.  He was sure Tony wasn’t in here, either, but if he panicked and called the police, and Tony was just hiding, he’d really be in hot water.  Fury didn’t like the cops nosing around in his business, and given the sorts of people whose kids he was ultimately responsible for, Bucky couldn’t really blame him.

 

A few minutes later, he met Sam back at the center of the playhouse. “Nothing,” Sam confirmed what Bucky already knew.

 

Bucky nodded. “Me, neither.  I think we’re going to have to call this one in,” he admitted shakily, glancing out the window.  Obadiah Stane was standing there, observing the barely controlled chaos as the adults scrambled to find the missing child.  A small smile was playing around his mouth, though he was quick enough to wipe it away whenever somebody looked at him. Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

 

“What is it?” Sam asked, having already started to climb down the ladder. He followed Bucky’s gaze and grimaced.  “Oh, yeah.  Him.  He gives off weird vibes, man.”  Bucky mumbled some sort of agreement and followed Sam down to the ground.  It was time to call the local authorities.  So much for a fun birthday party.

 

Nick Fury was so going to fire him.


	14. Chapter 14

“So, let me get this straight. You lost Tony Stark at his own birthday party because you were in a pissing contest with Howard Stark’s second-in-command?”  Nick was glaring at him through his one good eye, his fingers steepled just below his mouth, which was currently tight with irritation.

 

Bucky shifted nervously, like a schoolkid caught sneaking out of class. “Um…pretty much,” he agreed, knowing that it was pointless to argue.  The sooner Fury handed down his punishment, the sooner Bucky could get out there and join the search effort.

 

“Right,” Fury said, sitting back. Bucky wasn’t fooled.  “Do you have any idea how royally you’ve fucked up?” he asked, and it was almost amused.

 

Bucky swallowed. “I’m surprised I haven’t been fired already,” he admitted shame-facedly. 

 

“Hmm,” Fury muttered noncommittally. “And what, exactly, are you intending to do now?” he asked.

 

Bucky frowned. “Umm…I was hoping to join one of the search parties,” he admitted. They’d all broken up into separate groups to cover more ground, but had so far been unsuccessful.  He didn’t know that he’d be much help, either, but he had to do _something_.

 

Nick’s scowl deepened. “Sorry, Barnes,” he said, not sounding sorry in the least, “but you’re not needed on the search parties. I have another job for you.”  Bucky opened his mouth to protest, and Nick’s glare darkened.  Bucky shut his mouth.  “Since you are responsible for losing Howard Stark’s son, you are now responsible for telling him that you lost his son. _In person_ ,” he stressed pointedly.

 

Bucky winced. He had really been hoping to avoid that part.  “Isn’t Howard your friend?” he asked.  Actually, come to think of it, he was Steve’s friend, too. And Peggy’s.  Surely one of them had already informed the engineer that his son was missing.

 

Nick was smiling now, and that was more worrisome than the scowl from before. “He is my friend,” he acknowledged. “Which is why this deserves a more _personal_ approach.  Besides, I have to stay here and reassure the rest of the parents that their children are safe under SHIELD’s care.”  He sounded very much aggrieved, and Bucky resisted the urge to back away.  “So that means that _you_ , Barnes, get to haul ass to Stark’s place and tell him that his son has gone missing _under your watch_.”

 

Bucky closed his eyes in resignation. So Fury wasn’t going to fire him – he was going to send him to Stark to be killed instead.  It was no less than he deserved, and he bowed his head in acquiescence.  “All right,” he agreed.  “You’ll keep me updated?”

 

Nick just gave him a dismissive wave, turning away. Bucky sighed, then turned around, heading for the parking lot, where his motorcycle was parked.  The Honda NC700X wasn’t the fastest bike out there, but it was sleek and strong and had excellent maneuverability.  Bucky had spent pretty much all of his pension from the army on the bike; he hadn’t regretted it yet.

 

Bucky barely took the time to slip on his helmet before he was tearing out of the parking lot, turning his bike towards Manhattan and the Stark Townhouse. The building on Fifth Street was more like a mansion and took up an entire city block, which made it easy to find, at least.  And if Bucky took a few turns a bit too fast or sped through a couple of yellow lights, at least it didn’t leave much room for thinking about how fantastically he’d just screwed up.

 

It was a relatively cool day for the end of May in lower Manhattan, the roads clear and dry. Bucky’s bike rumbled over the asphalt smoothly, his shiny metal arm glinting in the sunlight as he wove through traffic, movement as natural as breathing to him.  He dodged down a side road when traffic slowed as he approached the city, torn between the desire to just get things over and done with so he could join the search party and accidentally-on-purpose getting lost on the way to the Mansion and joining the search effort anyhow.  With a low growl at himself, Bucky hit the gas, spurring the NC700X to even greater speeds.

 

Moments later, he was roaring up to the gates in front of Stark Mansion – gates which were wide open, which struck him as odd, but didn’t deter him. Making his way up the driveway, Bucky parked his bike at the base of the steps and removed his helmet, staring up at the large, elaborate doors to Stark Mansion.  With a sigh, he headed for the stairs, still not entirely sure how he was going to explain things to Tony’s parents.  “Hi, my name’s Bucky, I’ve been watching your son for several months now, and I’m afraid that I let him go missing at his own birthday party.  No, I don’t know where he is, but I hear they haven’t found a body yet, so that’s good, right?”  Yeah, that was going to go just swell.  Not for the first time, Bucky wished that he had Steve there to back him up.  But Steve and Sam were both coordinating with local law enforcement, and they would do more good there than here anyhow.

 

“Suck it up, Barnes,” he muttered to himself as he marched determinedly up the stairs, his shoulders drawn back. He was a soldier; he’d delivered worse news than this.  Hell, he’d seen worse, seen small towns that had been cut down as they went about their everyday lives, seen the battered and broken bodies of the women and children and elderly left behind while their husbands and fathers and sons were out on the front lines, trying to protect them.

 

The doors had heavy brass knockers on them, and Bucky lifted the one on the left and let it drop back down with a solid slam, wincing at the loud noise and trying not to picture Tony’s small body, broken and bloody from the hard end of someone’s fists. He told himself that it was completely possible that the pre-schooler had simply run away and would be picked up by the police and brought back to his parents, none the worse for the adventure.  But something deep down told him that something was terribly wrong, that Tony wouldn’t have left SHIELD on his own, especially not during his birthday party.

 

Nobody answered the door, so Bucky knocked again, shifting restlessly on his feet. He was tempted to just give up and head back to report that he’d tried, but nobody was home.  Only the fact that Fury would probably just send him straight back here kept him from retreating back down the stairs.

 

After what seemed like an interminable wait, but was probably only about two minutes, the door opened on silent hinges and a familiar face greeted him. Bucky stared.  “Oh.”

 

“What can I do for you, Mr. Barnes?” Obadiah Stane asked, a cigar clamped firmly between his teeth, looking awfully unconcerned for a man whose best friend’s son was missing..  Bucky tried not to gag from the stench.

 

Bucky blinked. “Uh, I was hoping to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Stark,” he admitted, absolutely certain that Stane had already told Tony’s parents about his failure as a guardian in the worst possible way. He was surprised he hadn’t been turned away at the gate, possibly by a man with a gun.

 

Stane’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Have you now?” he rumbled, his eyebrows going down again.  “Well now, that’s just too bad.  You see, Howard and the missus are currently in Malibu.”  Bucky stared, and Stane smiled cruelly.  “Now, what can I do for you?”

 

Bucky was going to kill Fury. He was going to strangle him with his bare hands and bury the body twelve feet under.

 

But first things first. Bucky held out his hands in a gesture of peace.  “I apologize for intruding,” he said easily enough.  “I’ll let you get back to…whatever it is you’re doing, and I’ll just be on my way.  Please, let me know if you hear anything.”

 

Stane watched him predatorily for a long moment, then exhaled the smoke from his cigar directly into Bucky’s face.  Bucky tried not to cough.

 

“Sure,” he agreed, offering his hand for a shake, which Bucky accepted grudgingly before turning to leave.

 

He felt Stane’s eyes on him the whole time he retreated, and he gritted his teeth. He couldn’t help the niggling suspicion that somehow, Obadiah Stane had a hand in Tony’s disappearance.

 

Slipping onto his bike and gunning the engine, Bucky headed back down the drive.   But he wasn’t planning to go far.  Whatever Stane was doing here, it was obvious that he was up to nothing good.

 

“Time to see what you’re up to, you son of a bitch,” Bucky muttered. Tony’s life just might depend on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Honda NC700X (Bucky's Bike)](http://powersports.honda.com/assets/flash/model/gallery/NC700X_2017_03.jpg)


	15. Chapter 15

“Yeah, thanks, pal. Keep me updated, would’ya?” Bucky asked, sharp eyes watching the entrance to Stark’s place while he talked to Steve.  The gates had closed behind him, and it had been an easy matter to stash his bike around the corner, and return to stand guard outside the Mansion gates, careful to keep away from the cameras.

 

“Yeah, definitely,” Steve said, sounded almost insulted. In the background, Bucky could hear Sam hollering for Steve to hurry up, there was a new lead.  “Hey, man, I gotta go.  You keep safe, you hear?” Steve asked.

 

“Of course,” Bucky grinned into the phone. The gates were opening.  “I’ve gotta go, too.  See you later,” he promised, hanging up before Steve could say something sappily encouraging.  His pep talks just annoyed the hell out of Bucky, if he was honest.  Stupid jerk.

 

A black car with tinted windows exited the gates a moment later, and Bucky waited, sharp eyes taking in the license plate before he settled back down in the bushes. He felt like the lamest spy ever, and his current position reminded him uncomfortably of the trenches, huddled behind barriers and praying to anybody who would listen that the enemy didn’t get a bead on them.  Enough of them died in the blind attacks; more would die if their enemies could actually aim.

 

His patience paid off, as a second vehicle –this one silver – left the gates a few minutes later, Obadiah Stane behind the wheel. So, the first car had been a decoy, but Bucky took a moment to send a quick text off to Steve’s phone with the license plate.  Steve would have the cops run it, and hopefully put out an APB.  If they were quick enough, Stane would never know what was happening, and maybe they could lead the police to Tony as well, if Bucky’s hunch didn’t pay off.

 

Giving Stane a few extra seconds to get around the corner, Bucky grabbed his bike out of the bushes and took off down the road. Once they were in traffic, he’d be able to follow a bit more closely without being obvious.  The helmet would mask his face, and his jacket and gloves covered his prosthetic.

 

The NC700X made good time in catching up, and Bucky kept an eye on the silver car as it wove through traffic, taking several turnoffs and side roads. Bucky cursed; the more evasive the other car, the more obvious he’d be if he kept following behind it.  Stane was a paranoid bastard, and it was giving Bucky a headache.

 

Bucky swore as Stane turned down a road with hardly any traffic. He continued on straight for another two blocks before turning in the same direction, hoping he would spot the car further down the street.  Bucky was pretty sure that Stane was heading out of Manhattan, but with sixteen bridges connecting Manhatten to the outside boroughs, he had no idea which one he planned to take.  Current direction would seem to indicate one of three options, though, and Bucky supposed that if he absolutely had to, he could try and catch Stane crossing one of them.  But that left, at best, a thirty-three percent chance that he’d get the right one, and those odds were unacceptable.

 

Stane’s silver car took a left, and Bucky followed, too intent on not losing his quarry to pay attention to the flow of traffic. The wail of a siren rose up behind him, and Bucky swore, glancing at the mirror on his bike.  The officer was gesturing for him to pull over, and Bucky hunched further down over his bike and kicked up the speed.  If the cops wanted to chase him, fine. They could follow him right out of the city.

 

Unfortunately, the sirens attracted exactly the kind of attention Bucky didn’t want, and Stane obligingly pulled over to the side of the road. Bucky swore as he drove past him – even if he stopped, there was no way Stane would continue to his destination knowing that he was being followed – and skidded to a halt a little ways down the road.  The police car pulled up behind him, and Bucky dropped his foot to the ground and held his arms out to either side, holding the keys in his right hand and showing that he was unarmed and not planning to drive off on them.  He really hoped Steve and Sam were having better luck than he was. 

 

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” the officer ordered harshly, accompanied by the distinctive click of a gun hammer. Bucky stiffened, his entire body stilling.  There was no reason for a cop pulling him over for a traffic violation to pull a gun on him; he wasn’t fighting, wasn’t running, and certainly wasn’t brandishing a weapon of his own.  His metal prosthetic was covered by the leather jacket and glove, so it wasn’t a case of nerves, either.

 

“May I know what the charges are, Officer?” he asked, careful to keep his tone calm and non-threatening. The last thing he needed was a spooked cop shooting him by accident.  If the man shot at him, it had better be on purpose. At least then, Bucky would feel less guilty about kicking his ass.  And then reporting him for police brutality and unnecessary force.

 

“Hands behind your back!” the officer ordered, and Bucky’s eyes narrowed. He was pretty sure that this guy couldn’t bring him in without naming the charges against him.  Which meant that he was ignoring Bucky on purpose.  That, in turn, translated to the fact that he was likely acting outside of his authority.

 

Bucky dropped his keys to the ground with a soft clink and shifted his hands behind his head. “Can I at least climb off the bike?” he asked softly.  “Or are you planning to drag me over it?”

 

There was a short moment of hesitation, and Bucky’s eyes narrowed. This guy was young and inexperienced.  Maybe he really was just overreacting.  “Put both legs on the ground,” the officer said at last, and Bucky complied easily enough, grateful to have a chance to steady his stance.  He felt the officer reach for him, and he whirled around, knocking the gun out of the cop’s hands with a quick prayer that it wouldn’t go off and shoot some poor civilian driving past.  He had the cop on his stomach on the ground in a matter of seconds, his metal hand holding him down easily while the cop yelled at him about harassing an officer and resisting arrest.

 

“What’s Stane paying you?” Bucky demanded abruptly. The cop stilled under him, and Bucky swore.  “Goddammit, man!” he snarled.  “Do you realize he’s probably responsible for the kidnapping of a child? And you just let him go!”

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” the officer spat, glaring up at him from where his face was pressed against the asphalt. “Mr. Stane contacted the department and indicated that he believed he was being stalked in relation to a ransom demand for his godson.”  He squirmed against Bucky’s grip, and the soldier tightened up, making him wince as his wrists were ground together.

 

Bucky leaned down over him. “Do you have proof of this ransom demand?” he asked.  The cop didn’t answer, apparently having said all he was planning to say – which was probably still more than he was supposed to, but Bucky couldn’t bring himself to care.  He leaned down further, putting more weight on the officer’s back.  “I’m not going to be brought in,” he murmured.

 

The cop just smirked. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he countered.  “Rumlow!”  The click of a safety behind him, and Bucky sighed.  Straightening up, he shifted so he could stand up, his hands held high on either side of his head.

 

“You’re an idiot, Rollins,” the new cop sneered at his partner, his gun aimed unerringly at Bucky’s head. The soldier turned to face him, and his legs were kicked out from under him.  He hit the street hard, and then Rollins was on top of him, his fist drawn back to strike.  Bucky glared up at him, and Rumlow repeated his name.  “Rollins, knock it off, moron.  If you hit him, he’ll holler brutality.  Besides, that left arm of his seems like it could do some damage.”  Bucky took another look at Rumlow, who grinned at him.   “Hey there, Barnes,” he greeted.

 

Bucky groaned. “How the hell did you wind up bein’ a cop?” he demanded, even as Rollins hauled him none-too-gently to his knees and cuffed his hands behind his back, the metal biting into his flesh wrist.  Brock Rumlow – or Crossbones, as he’d been known in Bucky’s platoon – was a violent, aggressive, no-holds-barred kind of guy.  He was the type of soldier the military brass would send in when they wanted to make someone talk.  Bucky had no love for the man, or his ilk.  He grunted as Rollins shoved him forward, stumbling forward, off-balance and awkward.

 

“What? You didn’t think I was gonna stay in the military forever, did you?” Rumlow boasted.  “I’ve got pull with the locals here, so it was a cakewalk to join our neighborhood boys in blue.”  Bucky very carefully didn’t roll his eyes.  Rumlow had a reputation, and rumors abounded about the number of partners he’d had that had ended up dead or permanently disabled.  Nobody knew exactly what happened to them, but nobody wanted to partner with Crossbones, either.  Bucky wouldn’t put it past the man to see to it that he had an ‘accident’ on the way to the police station that just happened to land Bucky in the hospital. Or worse.

 

“There was no ransom demand, was there?” he asked, resigned. Neither man answered him as he was shoved into the back of the squad car, his head smacking against the top of the door frame.  He winced, then tried to get comfortable, yanking his leg in just before Rollins slammed the door with a vicious shove.

 

Watching the two men argue outside the vehicle, Bucky sighed, already composing his phone call in his head. He was in so much trouble.

 

And he still had no idea where Tony was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to state, for the record, that I had no idea what was happening until it was happening. I decided to finish all the way through the rescue before posting, but the plot sort of got a bit tangled, so hopefully it still (sorta?) makes sense to those of you who have stuck with me through this story!


	16. Chapter 16

Bucky gave a ghost of a grin at the woman standing outside the cell, staring at him. “Hey, Peg,” he muttered through a busted lip, his throat and lips parched.  Rumlow and Rollins hadn’t exactly seen fit to give him anything to drink while he’d been in here. He’d been lucky he’d gotten a phone call, and that was only because he’d made such a ruckus about it that the other cops had started staring, though nobody actually said anything.  Apparently the two men weren’t liked much by their coworkers here, either.  The split lip had been his punishment for opening his big mouth.  The rest of it – the bruises hidden under his clothes – was just for old time’s sake.

 

Still, he’d gotten his thirty seconds, and that had been all he’d needed to call the one person who would probably come in and get him out without asking too many questions or demanding to speak to whoever had roughed Bucky up. He didn’t need Steve getting into a fist fight with local law enforcement on his behalf, and Sam would’ve just ended up telling Steve what had happened, anyhow.

 

“Really, Barnes,” Peggy said, and it wasn’t a question.

 

Bucky shrugged. “Sorry, ma’am,” he apologized.  “I didn’t know who else to call, and I didn’t have much time.  It’s not like I have a lot of phone numbers memorized.”  That’s what speed dial was for.

 

Peggy frowned. “I’m not sure whether to be flattered or concerned,” she admitted. Bucky just shrugged, because he wasn’t going to tell her that the only reason he knew Peggy’s phone number was because he’d wanted to keep an eye on the dame who’d broken his best friend’s heart. 

 

“How’s the search going?” he asked quietly. Peggy gave him a knowing look, but allowed the change of subject.

 

Leaning casually against the bars of the jail cell, looking for all the world like she was just waiting for Rollins to return with the keys – he was taking his own sweet time about it, too – Peggy answered him. “We’ve got some friends looking into it.  And Howard and Maria are on their way back.”  Her eyes flicked over to him, and Bucky realized that she was a lot angrier than she was letting on.  “And if Obadiah is behind this, we have now tipped our hand.”

 

Bucky winced. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he muttered, flushing.  “I wasn’t expecting him to _call the cops_.”  Seriously, what kind of bad guy called the cops?  Sure, Stane was lying to them, and it seemed like at least a few were on his payroll, but still, Bucky was pretty sure the guy was breaking some sort of bad-guy code.

 

Peggy shrugged. “Yes, well, what’s done is done,” she replied shortly.  “And now we have to deal with the fallout.”

 

Just then, Rollins meandered around the corner towards the cells, and the two of them fell silent in favor of signing the paperwork and getting Bucky out of jail.

 

When they finally made it outside, night had fallen, and Bucky followed Peggy towards the parking lot, where somebody – probably Steve – had dropped his bike off earlier. “Go home, Barnes,” Peggy ordered.  “Get some rest.”

 

Bucky just snorted; there was no way he was going to be able to sleep tonight, not knowing where Tony was or how he was doing. Peggy gave him a wry look, as if she could read his mind.  But all she said was, “Here,” and shoved the envelope containing Bucky’s personal belongings into his chest.  Bucky reached up automatically to clutch it to him.

 

“Very well, then,” Peggy conceded. “Do what you want, but don’t make things worse,” she warned him.

 

Bucky nodded. “Of course,” he agreed.  He hadn’t meant to make things worse in the first place.  Already, he was planning out his next move.  It had been a long time since he’d been a scout, but he still knew how to track.  And now that he knew that Stane had called the cops, he would just have to plan to avoid those, too.  Which meant a phone call to the one man that could give Bucky the information he wanted.

 

Peggy left in her own car, and Bucky climbed onto his bike and put some distance between himself and the police department. It wasn’t until he neared the edges of the city that he stopped, reaching into the saddlebag for his belongings.

 

Pulling out his cell phone, Bucky was relieved to see that it still had power. He blinked down at the missed call notification, not recognizing the number.  There was a voice mail, too.

 

Frowning, he punched the button and put the phone up to his ear, wondering who could possibly want to call him. He had contact numbers for all of the children’s parents, and for his friends and co-workers, but this didn’t belong to any of them.

 

There was a long moment of quiet, and Bucky wondered if maybe it had been an accidental dialing. Then a quiet, familiar voice spoke, and Bucky nearly dropped the phone.  “Bucky?” Tony’s voice pleaded through the phone, his breath hitching in quiet little gasps, like he was trying not to cry.  “The bad guys took me,” he said, his voice sounding even younger than normal.  “They want me to call dad.”  There was a pause, and Bucky could hear muffled voices in the distance.  Tony’s breathing grew louder, more distressed.  “Help me, please,” he begged.  “You promised.”  There was the sound of a door opening, and then a males voice exclaiming angrily, followed by loud, hurried footsteps and the sound of flesh on flesh.

 

“Damn brat got hold of a phone,” another voice growled over Tony’s sobs. “Who the fuck did he call?”  The phone went silent, the message cutting off – or ended, Bucky didn’t know.  He swallowed hard, then hit replay.  He listened to the message three more times, his heart breaking a bit more each time he heard Tony’s fear, and his pain.  The phone creaked in his hand, and he dropped it like it was hot, then swore when it clattered to the asphalt.

 

Picking it back up, he memorized the phone number, ignoring the shaking in his hand. Then he made a call.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware that I posted three chapters in a single update (Chapters 15 - 17). So if you haven't read the previous chapters, you might want to, or you're going to be very confused on how Bucky got from there to here.

Bucky killed the engine on his bike and pulled it off the road and into a small copse of trees on the shoulder. He’d make the rest of the trip on foot so as to not alert whoever was holed up on the old farm about two miles down the road.  He could make the journey fast enough.  Steve and Sam should be arriving soon, but Bucky wasn’t about to wait for them, not while knowing that the assholes holding Tony didn’t give a second thought to hurt him.

 

Steve was probably going to kill him if he survived this without a trip to ICU, but right now, Bucky only cared about two things: finding Tony Stark, and getting him out. There would be time to deal with Stane later, if he was behind this. Bucky had promised Steve that he’d get proof before doing something stupid.

 

Quickly, he finished slipping on the rest of his tac gear, leaving his metal prosthetic arm bared to the moonlight. It made him more visible, but it also tended to make people hesitate when they saw it.  Going full Soldier might be a bit over the top – Maximum Overkill, Sam would tell him – but it would serve its purpose two-fold.  It would make it harder to identify him if he was spotted; and it would probably make Tony’s kidnappers turn tail and run.  Bucky didn’t earn his nickname by being warm and merciful.

 

Staring at the object in his hands, Bucky hesitated for only a moment before securing the half-mask around his nose and mouth, leaving only his eyes visible. With that last piece, he felt the Winter Soldier mantle fall over him – that part of him that he’d tried to leave back in the war, the part that shot who he was ordered to shoot, that tracked who he was ordered to track, that followed orders blindly, obediently.  He found out too late that his commanding officer had gone off the reservation, and by then, he was being taken prisoner, the loss of his arm the most visual loss, but not the only one.

 

A familiar calmness overcame him, and Bucky knew that even without weapons, he would get Tony out of whatever situation he’d fallen into. He’d get him home, and then he’d deal with the consequences of his actions.  He started towards his destination at a quick jog, knowing that time was limited – if these guys even suspected that someone was onto them, they’d move Tony, and he’d have to start all over again.  And this time, they’d hide him better than some old, abandoned farmhouse barely outside the city limits.

 

He moved swiftly, staying just far enough back from the road to not be obvious to the handful of cars that drove down that road. Two miles wasn’t far, and he ate up the distance in under fifteen minutes.  He hadn’t even broken a sweat, but he needed a slower approach to make sure he wasn’t noticed.  His arm clicked and whined with nervous tension, and he flexed, letting the plates settle back down.

 

He found the gravel driveway easily enough, but bypassed it entirely in favor of scaling the gate itself. The barbed wire at the top didn’t even scratch his prosthetic – Stark Tech really was quite amazing – and he was up and over in moments, dropping near-silent to the ground and crouching in the shadows there, his metal arm pressed between his side and the gate so as to not glint in the moonlight and give him away.  He wanted them to see him when he was ready for them to, and not a moment before.  Besides, he had another, secondary reason for keeping the arm out on display, and it wasn’t just to frighten whoever was inside.

 

Once he was certain the coast was clear, Bucky rose into a low crouch and followed the gate around the outer edges of the property. There was a dilapidated fence with sagging, rotted wood next to a small wooded area that led nearly to the equally dilapidated barn.  There was a farmhouse on the property as well, but the Soldier would have to run flat-out over a wide open field to get to it.  So he’d check the barn first.

 

He kept his eyes peeled for movement, but it remained quiet. Perhaps all the guards were inside with the boy, which would make sneaking up on them easier, but extracting Tony much more difficult.

 

Leaves and underbrush made a soft noise as he carefully made his way through the trees, his metal hand occasionally touching one of the large trunks for balance. Pale eyes watched as a couple of bats hunted for insects, swooping across the lights stationed on either side of the barn, shining down into the yard below.  The halo of light extended a considerable ways past the edge of the barn, though they didn’t quite touch the tree line.  But leaving the shelter of the trees meant exposing himself to anybody who was watching.  And this wasn’t a war; he had no weapons, no orders.  If anybody died, he’d be tried for murder.  Not for the first time, he found himself missing the simplicity of war.

 

His throat clicked dryly when he swallowed, crouching in the underbrush, his legs tense as he prepared to make a run for it. The barn was too well-lit for him to remain hidden, and if he was wrong about Tony’s location, he might not get another chance.  At the same time, if he hesitated for too long, Tony was equally likely to wind up hurt, or worse.

 

Taking a deep breath, Bucky moved to the closest point between trees and barn, checked his sightlines one more time – there were at least two people in the upper levels of the barn, leaning against the walls as they stared out the windows into the yard below – then darted forward, heading for the barn at a flat-out run.

 

The men in the loft must not have been paying any actual attention to what was happening below them – Bucky didn’t imagine this area had been disturbed much since they’d arrived – because he was halfway across the yard before the first shout went up. Using his metal arm, Bucky slammed into the barn doors, cursing when they bowed inwards but held.  Wedging his fingers in along the gap between the doors – it was old, after all, the doors weren’t sealed particularly tight – he tore at the wood until he found the bar holding the door shut.

 

The familiar sound of a gun being cocked made him duck, just before a bullet shot over his head with a deafening crack. Something in Bucky’s head clicked, slipping sideways, and his next punch broke right through the bar, forcing the doors open.  Keeping low, the Soldier grabbed the first thing at hand – an old wooden chair, propped against the wall next to the doors, and threw it at the men in front of him, causing them to curse and duck as it hit the ground and shattered, sending shards of wood and metal in every direction.  He grabbed the first man he came to, his metal hand around his throat, and threw him into the men behind him, interfering with their line of fire, twisting out of the way of a switchblade aiming for his throat and kicking another man’s knee out from under him, stepping over the dropped body with an extra stomp for good measure.

 

Instinct took over after that, and if questioned, Bucky honestly wouldn’t be able to say how things had gone down. It had been part of the reason for his discharge from the army – that single-mindedness that had often led to him falling outside of orders when engaging the enemy.  Steve hadn’t been much better, but he’d at least been able to recall things through the battle haze later when questioned by his superiors.

 

There was shouting, and blood, and the Soldier was pretty sure he’d been hit a couple of times by lucky fists, and maybe a knife or two, but he wasn’t shot – he could always feel it when he’d been shot, it fucking _hurt_ – and he barely noticed when he made it through the first room and into the second.  A quick glance around told him two things – first, that his target wasn’t in this room, either; and second, that he had more options for remaining unseen here.

 

Scaling a couple of straw bales that were stacked nearly to the ceiling, the Soldier leapt over to a ladder that went up a wide, sturdy beam and swung up into the rafters, crouching low in the shadows and looking around. He was vaguely disgusted that nobody else was stationed up here – it was high up and sturdy, the perfect set up for a sniper.

 

Stilling himself, the Soldier took stock of the layout of the room. There was another set of large doors on the far side that most likely led to animal stalls, and smaller doors off to the left that probably led to storage areas.  To his right, there was another large set of doors, and he could smell oil and gasoline under the muted overlay of rust – that must be where the farm vehicles and equipment were kept, probably no longer functional, given how rundown the entire building was.

 

The soldier glanced down when his fingers closed over something, vaguely surprised to realize that he was holding a shotgun, the heavy barrel resting along the beam under his hands. He didn’t remember taking it from the men he’d just fought – none of which had come after him yet – much less bringing it into the rafters with him. 

 

The doors slammed open, and the Soldier realized that he’d lost his opportunity – if he’d been thinking, he would have tried to open all the doors, cause confusion while they tried to figure out where he’d gone.

 

The men that milled down below him spoke in a combination of English and Spanish, weapons held out in front of them, guns pointed at the ground or ceiling. The Soldier bit back a snort at that – even pointed at nothing useful, those guys would probably shoot themselves with the ricochets.  Not a one of them had their safeties on.  Incompetent morons.

 

Incompetent morons with guns that shot actual bullets, he reminded himself as he ran across the rafter beams, bullets slamming into the wood below and above him. One lucky shot pinged off his metal arm, and the Soldier nearly lost his balance, dropping to his knees to avoid toppling off of the crossbeam.  He could feel the dent where the bullet had hit, the metal plates not shifting as smoothly, grinding irritably..  That was the last thing he needed, because repairs to this particular arm would probably have to be done by Howard Stark himself, and the Soldier was pretty sure that Howard was not going to be his biggest fan when he found out that his only son and heir had been kidnapped _on his watch_.

 

Knowing there was nothing for it – he’d be dead before he made it halfway down a ladder, and he was rapidly running out of beams – the Soldier leapt from the wooden beam and dropped straight into a pile of hay bales, which tumbled down around him in all directions, burying him under heavy, musty dead leaves. There were shouts and the pounding of feet while he squirmed his way out from under the crushing weight of the bales, coming out several feet ahead of where he’d tumbled down.

 

Sure enough, the handful of men were standing too far away, their guns pointed uselessly at the bales that the Soldier had been under a moment before. With a twist and a roll, the Soldier had put more bales between him and the men, and put himself closest to the large doors at the far end of the room from where he’d come in.  He was betting (hoping, really) that Tony was being held in an animal stall, where it was smaller and could be more easily defended.  If he was wrong, he’d likely find himself cornered before he could backtrack and try another door.

 

Listening carefully, the Soldier realized that the kidnappers had all but confirmed Tony’s location. The ones behind him had realized that he wasn’t where they thought he was, and the ones in front of him were now blocking the large door, ignoring the ones to either side of the building.  The Soldier grinned behind his mask, flipping the knife in his hand.  He’d lifted it off one of the men he’d crashed through, and if the cops showed up, he’d probably be seen as less dangerous because he was using a knife in what was very obviously a gunfight.

 

He dashed out of his hiding place, catching the men who’d started to cautiously approach his location off guard, and headed for the doors. The first two men went down in a flurry of punches, and the next dropped after a sharp chop to the neck, gagging.  But he’d given them too much time, and they overwhelmed him with sheer numbers, not even bothering to use their weapons in close quarters.

 

Three men pinned his metal arm to the floor, and even then they were struggling. “Who the hell is this guy?” one of the men grunted to his fellows.

 

“What’s it matter? He’s obviously here for the kid,” another one growled. The Soldier bucked under them, twisting in an attempt to throw them off, but they managed to hold on, and a sharp blow to the temple with the butt of a gun rendered him dazed and bleeding.  “Get him up,” the second man snarled, and hands dragged his dead weight up and forwards, through the large doors. 

 

“What’re we supposed to do with him?” another voice demanded. “And how’d he know about this place?”  Bucky snorted, allowing the men to drag him where they would, the Soldier backing down for the moment, now that it was pretty obvious these men weren’t going to kill him until they’d talked to whoever had hired them.  That was the problem with mercenaries; not a self-thinking one in the bunch.

 

He heard the sound of wood against wood, and didn’t look up as he was tossed abruptly into one of the stalls on either side of the large room they’d brought him to. He wound up with a face full of mold and prickly straw, and promptly rolled over to sneeze and cough.  The men laughed and slammed the door shut.  “Watch him,” the man who seemed to be the leader ordered.  “That arm of his ain’t a joke; if he tries to break out of there, shoot him.”

 

“But what about our orders?” another voice piped up. A moment later, there was the sound of a fist colliding with bone, and a cry of pain, followed by a thud.

 

“Anybody else have something stupid to say?” the leader growled. There was a low murmur of denials.  “Idiots,” the man muttered as he walked away.  Bucky had to agree.

 

Carefully, he brought himself to his knees and looked around. The walls of the stall he was in only went about chest high, as did the gateway they’d thrown him through.  A low, empty trough ran along one side, and the back of the stall was also the wall of the barn.  There was a rusted, dented metal bucket in one corner that might make a useful projectile, but the moment Bucky shifted as if to climb to his feet, he had three guns pointed at him.

 

Blinking, he held his hands above his head. “Uh…sorry?” he tried.  The men remained unmoved, and Bucky settled back down, crossing his legs in front of him and resting his arms in his lap.  After several long, tense moments, the men lowered their weapons, though they didn’t put the safeties on.  Bucky settled against a side wall and closed his eyes, though he remained alert.  There was a shifting sound a few feet away, followed by a sniffle, and Bucky tensed, but didn’t move, worried that he’d give himself away.  Unless these guys had more than one young child here, Bucky was pretty sure that was Tony.

 

“Hey, kid, got some food for you,” a man jeered, and Bucky carefully marked his approximate location. Judging by the size of his own stall, they were about three stalls down.

 

“’m not hungry,” a childish voice muttered, confirming that it was, indeed, Tony. At least Bucky had been right.

 

There was laughter. “Aw, c’mon, kid.  You know what’ll happen to you if you don’t eat.”  The man’s voice was over-friendly, and Tony made a small noise.  Bucky bit back a snarl, shifting his metal hand very carefully.  He was only going to have one shot at getting to the boy, and if he fucked it up, he’d be dead and Tony would be gone.  “Besides, you need your strength.  You’re leaving here tonight.”

 

A moment of quiet, then, “Really?” Tony asked, his voice hopeful. Bucky winced as the men outside his door joined the other man, laughing raucously.  Bucky took advantage of the noise and lack of focus and shifted, reaching out for the metal pail he’d noticed earlier, getting a good grip on it.  In his flesh hand, he grabbed a handful of straw and dirt from the floor of the stall.

 

“Yeah, kid,” the man taunted. “We’re going to move you to somewhere nice and safe until your daddy pays up.”  So this really was about the money?  Bucky suddenly didn’t feel the least bit guilty about the men he’d knocked unconscious out there.  Kidnapping a five year old boy from his birthday party just for kicks and a bit of money that would probably be gone almost as soon as it landed in their grubby little hands.

 

The sound of the doors being shoved open and footsteps approaching hurriedly preceded another, younger voice exclaiming, “He’s here, and he says he wants to see the kid!” He sounded frightened, and Bucky wondered who had just arrived.  Surely it wasn’t Howard, because Bucky was pretty sure that the man wouldn’t be stupid enough to come himself.  There was probably a drop off or something that was supposed to happen.

 

“And?” the man in charge snapped back. “Bring him here.  The kid’s still alive, which is all he cared about, anyhow.  Besides, we need to talk to him anyhow, now that we’ve got another…guest,” he spat, and Bucky realized they were talking about him.  Which meant that whoever ‘he’ was, the newcomer was probably the guy who had hired them.

 

“Y-yes, sir!” the teenager – Bucky could see him now, pale and gangly, and obviously not cut out for this kind of work – replied, turning on his heel and scurrying back out the door. Bucky figured he must be related to one of the other thugs-for-hire, because he could see no other reason for somebody who was that obviously weak to be hanging around with a bunch of mercenaries unless he was family.

 

Knowing that he was out of time – whoever had just arrived would probably have Tony relocated immediately – Bucky made his move. He threw the pail first, slamming it into the side of the furthest man’s head and dropping him.  The other two men who were supposed to be watching him turned too slowly, and Bucky was at the gate and hopping over it, using his metal arm to heave himself up and over, his fistful of dirt flying into the faces of the two men, who swore and flinched, their guns going off in their panic.  Bucky’s ears rang.

 

“Son of a – “ the man was cut off before he got another word out, and Bucky was skidding past the stalls. When he saw Tony, bound wrist and ankle to a wooden chair in the middle of another stall, he stopped his momentum, his right hand reaching out and grabbing hold of the gate to stop his forward movement.  Wood splinters bit into his hand, but he ignored the sharp jab of pain as he reached out to unlatch the gate.

 

Unfortunately, he hadn’t realized just how close the leader was to Tony, and the man was suddenly behind the boy, a gun pressed to the back of the kid’s head. Tony had frozen, staring straight ahead with wide, blank eyes.  He wasn’t making a sound, but Bucky could see the terror in the way his mouth was trembling, his body shaking with tremors.  He was, quite literally, frozen in terror, unaware of anything except the gun pressed into the back of his skull.

 

Bucky held up his hands in surrender. “You don’t want to do this,” he said, his voice a low rumble beneath his mask.  Tony blinked at the sound of his voice, but didn’t move.  Bucky wasn’t even sure the kid was breathing at this point.  “He’s just a kid.”

 

“Yeah, a kid with a very rich daddy,” the man sneered.

 

Bucky debated for a moment, but he could hear the other man heading toward him, and he was either going to get himself or Tony shot. He was out of time.  “Kill him, and there will be nothing stopping me from killing you,” he snarled threatening, dropping his hands to his sides.  As he’d hoped, the other man decided that he was the bigger threat and swung the gun around, aiming for him.  Tony looked up, caught sight of his metal arm, and threw himself against the back of the chair as much as he could, tied up like he was.

 

The chair, not bolted to the floor, tipped back into the man’s legs, throwing his aim off, and then Bucky was on top of him, his metal fist crashing into the man’s face with a loud, sickening crunch. The man dropped, and Bucky kept moving, grabbing Tony, swinging around to meet his three attackers head on, already knowing that he was going to lose – he couldn’t shield Tony and fight off all three men at the same time, but he’d be damned if he let Tony get hurt any more than he already was.

 

Before anybody could get off a shot, the barn was flooded with lights. Bucky finally heard what he’d been ignoring before – the roar of helicopter rotors.  Sirens kicked up all around the barn, and someone was on a megaphone, informing the kidnappers that the place was surrounded, and that they should come out with their hands up.

 

Bucky resisted the urge to close his eyes in resignation; must he be surrounded by idiots? How did the officers outside know that the men inside the barn wouldn’t just shoot the kid they were holding hostage, now that a ransom was out of the question?

 

He got his answer a moment later, as a familiar disk slammed into the head of one of the men, then ricocheted and took out a second man. The third man was leveled by 220 pounds of pissed off blonde.  Sam followed at a more sedate pace, content to let Steve knock heads together.  He looked at Bucky bemusedly.  “Is he always like this?” he asked curiously.

 

Bucky shrugged, turning around to untie Tony, his body conveniently blocking Captain America from the child’s view, though the steady _thud thud thud_ made it pretty obvious what was happening. Bucky didn’t care.  Tony’s eyes were riveted on his metal arm, his breath hitching in tiny gasps.

 

“That’s enough, man,” Sam said at last, with an aggrieved sigh. “You’re gonna scare the kid.”  Steve grumbled, but let the last man drop to the ground with a dull thump before scooping up his shield and turning to look over at Tony, who was clinging tightly to Bucky’s neck, one fist wrapped in his hair and the other curved tight against his metal shoulder, the fingers twitching against the metal.  Bucky’s gamble had paid off.  Even with the Winter Soldier uniform, Tony recognized the arm, his father’s work.

 

Bucky’s flesh hand pressed lightly against the back of Tony’s head, keeping him from looking up and seeing the carnage and the flashing lights as the cops raided the place, though he couldn’t do anything about the sheer volume of noise that echoed through the old barn. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered.

 

Sam gave him a sympathetic frown. “We probably ought to let the paramedics take a look at him,” he said, nodding towards Bucky’s precious burden.  “And you gotta get your head straight.”  Bucky scowled, but reluctantly agreed.  The Soldier was still lurking in the back of his mind, just waiting for somebody to make a sudden move.  

 

“No!” Tony denied, the first words he’d spoken since Bucky had found him. He clung more tightly.  “I don’t wanna go to the hosp’tal,” he muttered, his face still mashed against Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“Sorry, kiddo,” Bucky murmured apologetically. “But he’s right.  We need to make sure you’re okay.”  When Tony’s only response was to cling impossibly tighter, wrapping his legs around Bucky’s waist, the dark-haired man sighed.  “Look, we’ll send Captain America with you, okay?  Would you like that?”  He glanced at Steve, who nodded his acceptance, his expression softening as he gazed at the distraught child in Bucky’s arms.

 

“Why can’t you come?” Tony demanded, peering up at him.

 

Bucky grimaced behind his face mask. “Because I’ll scare the people trying to help you,” he explained gently.  “Besides, you’ll be the coolest person there, I’ll bet.  Friends with Captain America.”  He made sure to inject some awe into his tone.  Sam just shook his head, and Steve rolled his eyes, but Tony gave a wet chuckle, so Bucky counted it as a win.  “How about this? I’ll get changed into something more casual, and meet you at the hospital, okay?” he asked.

 

“Promise?” Tony asked anxiously, still unwilling to let him go.

 

Bucky nodded. “I promise,” he reassured the boy as they strode out of the barn, heading for the flashing lights of the cop cars and ambulances, his eyes flicking over the faces of the men and women as they went about their jobs, searching for one face in particular.

 

When he found Obadiah Stane, his step faltered for a moment, but Steve’s hand at the small of his back urged him forward. Stane was talking to the cops, who were taking notes and nodding sympathetically.  Bucky didn’t know how he’d done it, but apparently Stane had somehow managed to present himself as an innocent victim in all this.  Stane’s eyes met his briefly, flicking to the oblivious child in Bucky’s grasp.  Tony made a small pained noise as Bucky’s hold tightened at the flash of irritation he saw in Stane’s eyes before the man managed to smooth out his expression and turn back to the officer interviewing him with an oily smile, sympathy and concern written all over his face.  Bucky bites back a growl, not wanting to worry the boy in his arms.

 

When they get close enough that Bucky can see the wary faces of the medical personnel on standby, he turns to Steve. “Take him,” he grunts softly.  Steve reaches for the child, and Tony reluctantly releases Bucky and allows Steve to hold him.  “I’ll see you soon, kid,” Bucky promises.  Tony just nods, peeking at him over Steve’s shoulder as the blonde carries him over to the waiting ambulance.

 

“He’ll be okay,” Sam reassures him, having hung back for a moment to take in Bucky’s haggard appearance. “Take some time to get cleaned up and get something to eat first, okay?  His parents are flying in and should be here in a few hours.  He’s not going anywhere until then.”

 

Bucky glanced at him, but didn’t respond verbally, watching as Tony was loaded into the ambulance, Steve’s shy smile and obvious concern wooing the EMT’s into letting him on board with the child. The doors closed, and the ambulance pulled away, lights flickering brightly over the pavement.  Only then did Bucky turn to face the other man, who was waiting patiently.  “Make sure he’s okay,” he requested.  “I’ve got something to take care of.”  To his credit, Sam didn’t ask what Bucky meant, just nodded in acceptance of his new assignment.  With one last visual sweep, Bucky took off for the edge of the property, Sam intercepting the two officers that called out after him.  Bucky didn’t know what he said to them, but they let him go unmolested, and Bucky quickly made his way into the trees, heading for his bike.

 

He just had one last thing to take care of, and then he’d keep his promise. He’d go see Tony.

 

And accept the consequences of his actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two more chapters to this story, and that's all. I promise. Next chapter: Obie gets what's coming to him. Final chapter: Time skip into the future, where we get to see how Tony and Bucky interact now that Tony has 'graduated' from SHIELD. I'm still deciding how far into the future I want to jump, but it'll definitely be a significant time skip.


	18. Chapter 18

 

Tracking down Obadiah Stane wasn’t that difficult, really.  The man had declined the offer of a police escort to the hospital, stating that he was sure Tony was in good hands with the medical staff, and that he wanted to be there to greet Howard and Maria at the airport, to reassure them that their son was going to be all right.  Bucky was just glad that it made his self-assigned mission that much easier.  No way was Stane going to get away with having his own godson kidnapped, beaten, and held for ransom.

 

Stane was talking on the phone in, of all things, an empty airport bus terminal.  Bucky settled himself behind one of the nearby columns, keeping his head bowed so the baseball cap covered his eyes and most of his face.  His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his well-worn hoodie, with its frayed cuffs and uneven pull-ties.  The laces of his sneakers, old and worn through, were undone.  All-in-all, he looked like a scruffy homeless man; hopefully, nobody would give him a second look.

 

“That’s because your boys were too impatient,” Stane was saying into the phone, his tone clearly displeased with whoever was on the other side.  “They got greedy.”  He paused for a moment, then made a sound of derision.  “And I told you that Stark is worth a lot more than his money.  Do you realize what he would have given up for that brat of his?  Why buy guns off the streets when you can have stuff that’s not even in production yet?”

 

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, then froze, hoping Stane hadn’t heard him.  That’s what all this was about? Weapons?  Bucky knew, peripherally, that Howard Stark had made much of his fortune supplying weapons and armor for the military, but this didn’t sound like anything legal.  Was Stane siphoning off Stark-made weapons to the black market?  Because it sure sounded like it.  Which meant that this went a lot deeper than Stane seeking revenge for some ridiculous slight, real or imagined.

 

“Yes, and you blew it, so now you’re shit out of luck, aren’t you?” Stane growled, sounding almost satisfied.  Then he switched to anger.  “Your men had one job.  Grab the brat and keep him hidden!  How hard is that?  It’s not my fault your men are a bunch of incompetent amateurs.”  Bucky scrunched down further, his thumb brushing over the buttons on the recording device he’d started before approaching Stane’s location.  He’d promised Steve, after all, that he’d get evidence on the guy and let the cops handle him.  That didn’t mean, of course, that he wasn’t going to… _handle_ …him on his own first.  His other hand clenched into a fist before relaxing again, and he slouched down further in the shadow of the column he was leaned up against.  There was a group of harried men and women hurrying towards the bus stop from about a block away, so Bucky figured Stane should be wrapping up soon.

 

“No, look, it’s not done,” Stane growled, and Bucky could practically hear the eye roll.  “Stark’s brat doesn’t know anything, and it’s going to stay that way.  I’ve worked too hard to let the boy interfere now.”  Stane had caught sight of the approaching crowd as well.  “Don’t call me again,” he ordered, then hung up, the phone closing with a sharp snap.

 

When the next bus came, Stane got on it.  Bucky stayed in the shadows until the bus had left, taking its load of passengers with it, before moving himself.  He had to time this just right or risk losing his chance to an ill-timed witness.  Stane was being careful, taking public transportation rather than just having himself chauffeured into the airport, where Howard Stark, being the wealthy man he was, had a reservation for the private terminal that was disguised as a hotel lounge, decorated with plush furniture, modern technology, and its own fully stocked bar.  Only the very rich were allowed there, but Bucky knew a man who delivered alcohol to the place; Pinkerton had complained vociferously about the hoity-toity celebrities and businessmen that had enough money to pay the outrageous membership dues and flight fees that the terminal demanded.  It had been amusing at the time, but knowledge of the service entrance came in handy now as Bucky slipped down the empty corridor that would lead directly to the private terminal.

 

The door, when he opened it, was surprisingly well-hidden, in that it blended smoothly in with the wall, hardly noticeable.  Bucky checked his watch; he had about twenty minutes before Stark’s plane was due to arrive.  His phone buzzed in his pocket, and Bucky glanced at the number before picking up.

 

“What are you doing?” Sam greeted without preamble.  “Tony’s asking for you.”

 

Bucky grimaced.  “Sorry,” he muttered.  “I had something to take care of.  And Fury’s probably going to fire me when this is all over, anyhow.”

 

There was a pause.  “What does your boss have to do with anything?” he asked at last.  There’s a pause. “Wait.  What do you have to take care of?” he demanded next, his voice heavy with suspicion.  “Please tell me you’re not going after Stane.”  Bucky remained stubbornly silent, and Sam swore lightly into the phone.  “Dammit, Barnes.  This isn’t war.  Let the cops handle it.”

 

“He hurt Tony,” Bucky replied fiercely.  “And he’s just going to walk away? Go back to Stark Industries and being Tony’s godfather?  He’ll try again.  You know that.”

 

“Then let the cops do their jobs,” Sam urged.  “You got a recording, right?  We’ll prove that he was behind it.  You can’t do this…this…vigilante justice!  The Winter Soldier died back in the war, remember?”  Bucky could hear the frustration in the other man’s voice, and the fear beneath that.  It had taken several months of therapy – and just as many therapists – before Bucky had been able to mostly separate the two.  He was Bucky Barnes, veteran, best friend of Steve Rogers.  The Winter Soldier had been an automaton, his way of separating himself from the horrors of war, and the shock that had come when he’d lost his arm and been taken prisoner.

 

Sam would undoubtedly push him to go back to counseling after this, but Bucky was determined to see this through.  Stane had been hurting a tiny, brilliant child for years and nobody seemed to notice.  And of those who did, nobody had done a damn thing about it, constrained by lack of evidence and fear of repercussions. 

 

The sound of the doors to the suite opening with a quiet swooshing sound interrupted Bucky’s train of thought.  “Gotta go,” he said lightly, then hung up on Sam, who was still talking.  He put his phone on silent for good measure, then tucked it into his back pocket.

 

“Mr. Stark’s plane should be arriving shortly,” somebody was saying.  “Would you like some refreshments while you wait?”

 

“No, no,” Stane rumbled, his stilted words caught somewhere between annoyed and impatient.  “I’m afraid there’s no time for that.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just wait for Howard right here.”  There was a brief acknowledgment, and then the door was opening and closing again, undoubtedly banishing the helpful employee out into the main airport.  There was a brief influx of sound, people going about their business, and then it was silent again.  Bucky felt his eyebrows lift; apparently, the private terminal was soundproofed as well as ostentatious. 

 

As soon as the door was shut, Stane walked over to the bar and poured himself a healthy dose of whiskey, which he downed quickly before pouring himself another.  Leaving the bottle on the counter, he took his glass and wandered over to the large floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the tarmac.  Bucky moved, aware that Stane would be able to see him in the window’s reflection.

 

He strolled casually over to the bar and poured himself a shot of whiskey, watching Stane watch him.  The other man’s mouth curled up in a mocking smile.  “Ah, if it isn’t the babysitter,” he murmured.  “Mr. Barnes, is it?  How long have you been following me?”

 

Bucky shrugged.  “For the better part of an hour,” he admitted easily, his eyes sharp and watchful.  He wanted to see the expression on Stane’s face as realization struck.  “You’re rather predictable,” he added easily, as if he hadn’t been thwarted at nearly every turn trying to figure out what Stane was up to.  So far, the other man just looked amused, as if he knew it.  Bucky changed tactic.

 

“So what’ll it be next time?” he asked, swirling the burnished amber liquid in his glass and leaning against the counter.  “Another fall out of a tree?  Broken glass?  Or perhaps something larger?  A minor lab explosion?”  He kept his voice even.  His instincts had rarely led him astray, and he was convinced that Stane was, if not directly responsible, then at least partially responsible for many of Tony’s childhood mishaps.

 

Stane’s expression turned cunning.  “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re on about,” he replied easily, his voice sliding into that oily salesman tone that made Bucky’s skin crawl.  “Tony is an adventurous child, and smart, too.  And as I recall, it was not I who was watching the boy when he disappeared.”  Bucky barely suppressed his flinch at the reminder of his complete and utter failure to protect one of his precious wards.

 

In his pocket, his phone buzzed insistently.  His eyes trained on the man standing by the window, he reached back and pulled it out, flicking it open to read the message there with a grim smile.  Peggy’s contacts within the FBI had come through; they were gathering information on illegal arms dealings of Stark Industries weapons, and had managed to draw enough links to prove that Obadiah Stane was involved, though how deeply, they were still trying to determine.

 

Outside, a small plane landed smoothly on the private runway, and Bucky tilted his head.  “Well, be that as it may, you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do.”  Almost as if they’d been waiting for their cue, the doors to the Suite opened and Peggy Carter and her husband walked in, followed by a handful of men in near-identical suits and haircuts flowed behind and around them, heading for Stane.

 

“Obadiah Stane, you are under arrest for the illegal sale and distribution of firearms intended for use by the United States Armed Forces.” Peggy’s voice was filled with a ruthless satisfaction as she smiled fiercely at the man, who was scowling darkly.  “And as soon as we finish speaking with those men who survived the raid, I’m sure charges of kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment will be added to that.”

 

Stane’s expression evened out all at once.  “Now, Peggy,” he drawled, “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.  And I’m sure those men don’t either.”  Bucky didn’t like the sound of that, but his job was done.  He handed the recorder over to a somber Daniel Sousa, glad to get it off his hands, then watched as Stane was removed from the room in handcuffs, surrounded by FBI agents.

 

Peggy kissed her husband good-bye, then came to stand next to Bucky, staring out the window as Tony’s parents disembarked.  “I have some explaining to do,” Bucky sighed despondently.

 

Carefully manicured nails came to rest on his metal arm, painted as brilliant red as Peggy’s lips.  “I will explain,” she told him.  “And he owes me some explanations of his own.”  Bucky raised his eyes to her, and she smiled at him sympathetically.  “In the meantime, don’t you have somewhere else to be?” she asked lightly, removing her hand and wandering over towards the sitting area, settling comfortably into one of the armchairs there.

 

Bucky frowned at her back.  “Wanna clue me in here, Carter?” he asked at last.

 

Peggy tilted her head back and smiled at him.  “Tony’s been asking for you,” she answered cheerfully.  “And if you know what’s good for you, Mr. Barnes, you’ll not keep him waiting any longer.”  Bucky could hear the implied thread, and he raised his hands in appeasement.

 

“All right,” he agreed, backing slowly towards the doors.  “I’m goin’, okay?  Please don’t shoot me.”  With that, he turned and fled.

 

Peggy’s laughter followed him out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The private suite is an actual thing. Not at this particular airport, but LAX has one, which is actually called the Private Suite. It's very expensive, and very exclusive. In case anybody's interested: [LAX Private Suite](https://theprivatesuite.com/the-experience/)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word of caution: this chapter deals a lot with the aftermath of the kidnapping. Not so much on Tony's behalf, but on Bucky's, and only in the vaguest of terms, but it's there. Just in case that's something that you don't want to read, I'll put a brief summary in notes at the bottom of the page.

“Hey, Buck, you got another letter,” Steve grinned, dropping down beside him on the couch, dangling the letter enticingly in front of his face, the handwriting on it well-known by now.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Why are you here?” he demanded instead, closing the hatch on his arm and waiting while it reactivated.  Tony had sent another program upgrade, complete with a “Guide for Morons” typed out in simple bullet points so that even somebody as technologically stupid as Bucky could figure it out.  At least, that was more or less what Tony had said in the note he’d attached to the package he’d mailed.

 

Steve laughed. “Sam’s at that Veteran’s Meet-and-Greet thing, and you know how much I hate those,” he admitted, chagrined.  Bucky nodded; Captain America was always really popular at those events, but Steve Rogers was just plain uncomfortable.  So unless Sam or Peggy insisted, he usually didn’t go.

 

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” he pointed out.

 

Steve shrugged. “Just wanted to see how you were doing,” he admitted easily.  “I know it’s hard for you when the kids leave.”  Bucky just sighed, putting away his tools with one hand while he waited for his arm to run through its paces, trying to decide if he was pleased that Steve had noticed, or irritated that he had been so obvious about it.

 

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged. “There’ll be more next year.”  Though little Maya had been rather promising, and Melinda had been an absolute delight.  Justin was going to be nothing but trouble, though.

 

“Doesn’t make it any better,” Steve acknowledged, then waggled the letter again, as if he thought Bucky had forgotten it was there. With a huff, Bucky snatched it out of his hand, reading the return address on the front greedily before flipping it over and tearing it open.  He pulled out the three sheaves of paper, grinning when he saw that they were spotted with coffee stains and what was probably engine grease.  Tony Stark wrote when the mood struck him, and didn’t bother with being neat about it.

 

_Bucky,_

_Made it to MIT! And Rhodey said they wouldn’t let me in since I was only fifteen.  I sent him a copy of the acceptance letter.  He’s promised to come here, too, just so he can keep an eye on me!  Their Engineering Science Department is kind of awesome, and I get to spend as much time in the workshops as I want.  The professors aren’t very smart, though.  Rhodey says I have to pretend to listen to them, anyhow, which is just stupid.  If they’re wrong, shouldn’t they be told so they can fix it?  I think I might get a dual degree while I’m here.  Maybe in Physics, I haven’t decided yet._

_Bruce is starting his own classes next year. He’s already been accepted, but he wanted to take a short break before going to university.  He says he’s tired of studying from books, and wants to spend a year traveling.  He’ll be going to Culver University.  He’s got a girlfriend there, I think, because if he didn’t, I think I could’ve convinced him to come here, with me._

_You’ll have to come visit me here so I can check out the new upgrades. Provided you didn’t mess them up already.  I hope you read the instructions before just plugging stuff in like you did last time._

_Aunt Peggy says I have to go to some kind of hearing next month, which is annoying. I didn’t have anything to do with the weapons when I was five, geez.  She said you promised you’d come, too, though, so that’s okay.  Bring Steve, too, okay?  Captain America can give his “I Am Very Disappointed In You” face to the judge._

Bucky grinned. Tony kind of adored Steve’s disappointed face, said it made even the worst criminals feel like they should just jump off a bridge and save the US government the trouble of locking them up.

 

He quickly skimmed the rest of the letter, but it was more of the same; excited chatter about the facilities at MIT, gossip about his friends, complaints about his professors and some of the other kids that he’d already made enemies of, just by virtue of being younger and more brilliant than they were, and unafraid to show it.

 

“Well?” Steve said at last, having moved off at some point to get a bottle of water from the fridge.

 

Bucky tipped his head back. “Tony’s doing good,” he said simply.  “James will be joining him next year, and Bruce is keeping in touch.  He’s whining because Virginia is planning to stay local, study business – accounting or something, he’s not really sure.”  More like whatever Miss Potts’ chose field might be didn’t interest Tony, so he was deliberately playing dumb.  “He wants me to visit.”

 

“So?” Steve asked, tossing a water bottle at him. Bucky caught it one-handed and twisted the cap off, pleased to see that the upgrades allowed him to do so without spilling half the bottle down his front from excessive use of force.  “Will you?”  Bucky blinked at him.  “Go see him, I mean,” Steve prompted.

 

When Bucky didn’t say anything, he sighed. “You should go,” he urged.  “Tony misses you, you know that.”  The boy had kept in touch since his days at the Super Human Interdisciplinary Early Learning Daycare, graduating from needing Edwin Jarvis to write out his childish letters to scribbling short notes to writing two-or-three page letters.  Bucky replied to every last one of them, but he only rarely visited the boy, usually in response to a summons from Peggy or Jarvis.  He’d seen him at the Jarvis’ funeral – the two of them had died on the same day when Tony was twelve, still holding hands across the small space between their hospital beds. He’d seen him when Tony was shipped off to boarding school by his father, too rebellious for his father to handle and too precocious for public school to offer any challenge.  And on one memorable occasion, Darcy had dragged him out to some big Christmas charity shindig where Tony had been standing next to his mother, sulking while Maria mingled with the other socialites. 

 

“It’s not a good idea, Steve,” Bucky sighs at last, raking a hand frustratedly through his hair. “You know that.”  Steve just frowned at him, but didn’t disagree, and Bucky went back to staring moodily at the television. He wasn’t even sure what was playing – some sort of procedural cop show, he realized with a grimace, his hand reaching out and smacking the remote until the channel changed to the local news. A minor improvement.

 

After Tony’s rescue, there had been a lot of press, the public demanding to know what happened. Bucky had been hauled in for questioning more times than he could count.  His military service had been brought up, his time spent as a POW put out there for everybody to see, people in his face and calling out to him on the streets, and wanting to know about his metal arm, and if he resented the Starks.  His friendship with Steve – _Captain America_ – had been brought up repeatedly, and Sam had been dragged into it as well until he’d finally put his foot down.  For a while, Bucky had feared for the relationship between the two men, but they’d somehow managed to pull through it relatively unscathed.  Bucky was sure Steve’s wounded retriever face probably had a lot to do with that (and Falcon was a pretty forgiving kind of guy, as Bucky knew from personal experience).  Still, that had just been more guilt on top of what he’d already been feeling, and the stress had eventually gotten to him.

 

Those months hadn’t been pleasant for anybody. Between the nightmares and the freakouts and the uncontrolled rages, Bucky was pretty sure he went insane for a while.  He couldn’t work, he couldn’t go out, he couldn’t fucking sleep or eat or even move out of bed (or off the floor) some days.  That hadn’t been fair to anybody, least of all Tony, who was still young and lost and didn’t understand why Bucky wasn’t in charge of his class anymore.  Steve and Darcy had teamed up to drag him out of bed and into a shower and clean clothes to at least attend the class graduation, though he had hung back in the shadows, still and silent as his eyes took in the happy children.  A few of them – Tony, of course, but also Bruce and James and Virginia and Phil – had come over to him to say thank you, and he’d managed a gruff congratulations, but that had been the last he’d seen of most of them.

 

And then, nearly four months after the graduation, the first letter had arrived, the envelope addressed in Ana Jarvis’ delicate cursive. It had been all of four sentences, written in Peggy’s elegant cursive, but Bucky still treasured that note to this day, had it tucked away in a corner of his safe, where it would be okay even if the building burned down around it.

 

_Thank you for saving me. Policemen and a nice lady came to talk to me about Obie today, it was scary.  Aunt Peggy says you’re scared, like me.  She also says it’s okay to be scared, so maybe we can be scared together? - Tony_

 Bucky hadn’t hesitated to write back to him – letters didn’t require him to talk to anybody, and they didn’t require him to actually say anything, regardless of the words he wrote on the paper, and a scared Tony stirred up those protective instincts that had been tucked away for so long that it was almost a relief.  Steve hadn’t needed anybody to take care of him in years, so to have a child – especially this child, who he’d failed so badly - reaching out to him was almost like absolution.

 

The letters had come steadily after that. Sometimes just a sentence or two, sometimes entire paragraphs of information that Bucky swallowed up greedily. Steve, of course, had encouraged the correspondence, though he still urged Bucky to go see the boy in person.  He hadn’t taken his friend’s advice, but between the psychiatrist appointments and the gym and the sparring matches with Steve (and occasionally Sam, but only if he was in the mood to get his ass kicked), he wrote back.  Shaky, half-stammered letters at first, telling Tony that what happened hadn’t been his fault, that Bucky was sorry, that Peggy and Jarvis and Howard and Maria would all make sure he was safe.  Gradually, it became something more like proper correspondence, a way to touch base with what was going on in each other’s lives. 

 

Two and a half years after Tony’s kidnapping, Bucky went back at work for SHIELD. Darcy had been thrilled; apparently, the man who had taken Bucky’s place had been awful at the job.  Not that he was mean or anything, but Erik Selvig was definitely up there in age, and had a hard time keeping up with the antics of a bunch of energetic four and five year old children.  And he was kind of boring, Darcy had shared gleefully.

 

After that, something inside Bucky had finally eased up, and his replies to Tony’s frequent letters had become more open, more honest. Tony, only seven at the time, had obviously noted the change, even if he didn’t know exactly what had caused it.  He had begged Bucky to come visit him; an actual visit, not just an appearance at some event or location where Tony happened to be.  Bucky’s resistance had been gradually worn down over a period of four months, and he finally agreed to come by one Saturday night for dinner with the Starks, with the promise that Peggy, at least, would be there as well.

 

That dinner had been an unmitigated disaster from start to finish. Something had come up at Peggy’s work and she was out of town with Edwin Jarvis for company, and without her to keep a reign on things, Howard Stark had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t like Bucky, didn’t trust him, and didn’t want him anywhere near his son.  All wrapped in a façade of cold civility.  Not that Howard had liked him during the war – he’d held Steve back, so the man had hinted at repeatedly, keeping the tall blonde monument of perfection from becoming all that he could be, from becoming an inspiration to the entire country.  Bucky was pretty sure the only thing he’d kept Steve from being was a lab rat.

 

Tony had been sent to boarding school that same year, and Bucky had gotten the message loud and clear. As long as Howard lived, he wasn’t to go anywhere near Tony Stark. 

 

So he had stuck to the letters, which Howard didn’t seem inclined to stop. Or perhaps it was more that Howard didn’t know about the exchanges.  He didn’t seem like the kind of man that would pay attention to something as mundane and tedious as the post.  He had people for that, after all.

 

Now, Tony was in college, brilliant and so very young yet, and he was asking Bucky to come visit. And Bucky wanted to, but that still didn’t make it a good idea.  Stark undoubtedly had people at the college to keep an eye on his son, if only to make sure that Tony didn’t embarrass him by association.

 

Bucky blinked back into the present as Steve’s hand came to rest on his metal one, squeezing lightly. “Tony’s old enough to know what he wants, Buck,” his best friend told him bracingly.  Bucky rolled his eyes, and Steve huffed a laugh, shoving him in the shoulder.  “Well, whatever,” he said, standing up and pulling out his phone to tap out a message.  “Lucky for you, I knew you were gonna be difficult and planned accordingly.”  Triumphantly, he hit send.

 

Almost immediately, the refrain of Star Spangled Man sounded, muffled only by Bucky’s front door. He glared at Steve, already climbing to his feet.  “Punk,” he muttered.

 

“Jerk,” Steve replied, the name-calling familiar and comforting. Before Bucky could even open the door, it was shoved open, and a grinning mop-haired teenager was walking inside and looking around in interest.

 

“So this is your place, huh?” Tony mused. “It’s so small!”

 

Bucky could feel the impending headache. “It’s not small,” he informed the younger man.  “Your house is just freakishly large.”  Tony just grinned more widely, not the least bit offended.  It was a running joke between the two of them.

 

“I knew you wouldn’t come,” Tony told him, the smile dropping from his face. “So I talked Cap into busting me out.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes to hide the guilty expression he knew he was making. “It’s college, Stark.  Not bloody Alcatraz.”

 

That surprised a laugh out of Tony. “No,” he agreed.  “Alcatraz would’ve been easier to break out of.  Do you know how long it took me to ditch my bodyguards?”  He groaned in exasperation.  “I can’t wait until Rhodey gets there, because maybe then the stupid guards will back off.  I feel like I have more security than the President.”

 

“I doubt it’s as bad as all that,” Bucky murmured wryly, pulling Tony into a one-armed hug when the boy leaned against him. He never had been able to refuse comfort when it was asked for.  Bucky pressed a sigh into Tony’s hair.  “I’ve missed you, kid,” he admitted quietly.  Tony just gripped him tighter.

 

“Then you should’ve said you’d come,” he muttered at last.

 

Bucky sighed. “Aw, Tony.”

 

Tony backed away hurriedly and glared at him, and Bucky winced. Teenager, right.  “I don’t need you to feel _sorry_ for me!” he snapped.  “I just want you to, you know, maybe do something other than just write me letters.  Which you only do after I write to you first!”  Bucky blinked for a moment, stunned to realize that Tony was right; it was always Tony who initiated their contact. 

 

He could feel his mouth twisting unhappily at the realization. “You’re right,” he agreed.  And, “I’m sorry.  I’ll do better.”  He felt like a chastised child.  He was in his thirties for crying out loud, more than twice Tony’s age!  The boy shouldn’t be able to make him feel like he’d been doing something wrong.  And it wasn’t like he didn’t want to see Tony. He did, but Howard had way more resources than him, and Bucky hadn’t doubted it when the weapons manufacturer had informed him that if he ever got within a hundred feet of his son, Howard would see him arrested and questioned on a plethora of charges, starting with child molestation and ending with conspiracy.  Bucky had no doubt he’d do it, either, and he couldn’t – wouldn’t – go through that again.

 

And so he kept his interactions with Tony limited to letters – Tony didn’t understand why he refused to get an e-mail account, like any sensible person – and the few public appearances where he could see the boy for himself without violating Howard’s demands.

 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Is this because of dad?” he demanded, hands on his hips.  “Because I know he said something to you.  He must have, because I didn’t see you after that.  But now I’m at MIT, and I can leave when I want.”  Which wasn’t actually true; he had classes and homework and bodyguards who were supposed to be keeping an eye on him.  Bucky wondered with a sort of bitter amusement how those men would fare when they reported to Howard that they’d lost his son, even if only for the afternoon.

 

“Look, it’s nobody’s fault but my own,” Bucky tried. Tony just snorted, and his lips twitched towards a smile despite himself.  “All right, fine, have it your way,” he huffed.  “You’re living on campus, right?  Got any plans for the holidays?”

 

Tony blinked, then shook his head vigorously. “Nope!  Dad doesn’t care if I’m home or not, and Christmastime is really busy for mom’s charities and things!  I was gonna go see Rhodey, but he can come here, too, right?  And Bruce?”

 

Bucky sighed, nodding even as he knew it was a bad idea. He was breaking so very many rules right now, his own and Howard’s.  But the earnest way that Tony was staring at him, wide-eyed and hopeful, worked just as well as it ever had.  “You always did know how to skirt the rules, didn’t ya?” he muttered, not all that unhappy.

 

“Yeah, like you’re one to talk,” Steve called out from the kitchen, startling them both. He grinned widely at them, waving a spatula in their general direction.  “So, Sam’ll be here soon, says they’re wrapping things up,” he informed them, practically radiating smugness.  “He says he’s bringing Rhodes as well.  Apparently, he was at the meet-and-greet with his dad.”

 

Tony cheered. “You’re the best, Cap!” he told the other man with a wide grin.  Steve just rolled his eyes, but blushed, stupidly pleased at the praise.  Bucky pouted at him, and he ducked back into the kitchen with a laugh.  The tantalizing scent of sizzling meat pervaded Bucky’s apartment, something he’d been too distracted to notice before, beyond a vague acknowledgment that Steve in the kitchen usually led to food.

 

He glanced at Tony, who was watching him back. “Well, kid,” he drawled, “since you’re already here, I guess you might as well stay for lunch.”  He paused.  “But first you call your Aunt Peggy so she doesn’t worry.  And so she can run interference with your dad. I don’t need the cops bustin’ down my door looking for a runaway brat.”  Not that Peggy would actually tell Howard where Tony was (probably), but she’d handle it if Howard decided to throw a fit about his son’s tendency to do what he wanted, damn the consequences.

 

Tony grinned, even as he held up his phone and waggled it in front of Bucky. “Deal,” he agreed.  “And then you and Rhodey can help me figure out how to tell the judge to go fuck himself without getting myself held in contempt.”  Which had happened before.  Twice.  Tony had a smart mouth, and even with coaching, he rarely stuck to the rules.  Bucky didn’t know why the courts expected any different.  But somehow, Tony still got his way.  Must be that charisma.  Or money.  It could be money.

 

“Language!” Steve called from the kitchen. Tony scowled, and Bucky laughed, grabbing the boy in a careful headlock with his metal arm – Tony’s improvements were awesome – and ruffling his hair while Tony sputtered and squirmed.

 

“Language,” he mimicked, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice.

 

Tony finally squirmed free and glared at him ineffectually. He opened his mouth, and the doorbell rang.  Tony ran for the front door, having already forgotten their previous conversation.

 

As Sam and Rhodey were greeted with hugs and flirting, respectively, Bucky felt something in him relax. Tony was right; whatever Howard had threatened didn’t excuse Bucky’s behavior.  He’d just have to do better, that was all.  Staring with this.

 

“Hey, Stevie!” he called walking into the kitchen. “How ‘bout I take Tony back to school later?”

 

The boy’s answering smile made the offer worth it, and together, the four of them stumbled into the kitchen, where dinner – and family – awaited them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick summary: after the kidnapping, Bucky was dragged in for questioning by the police, and there was a media frenzy, and his PTSD became more prominent. He didn't return to work for SHIELD until two-and-a-half years after the kidnapping and rescue. He also all but cut himself off from Tony, except through letters, following a dinner at the Stark Mansion and threats by Howard.
> 
> At 15, Tony enrolled at MIT, away from his father, and knowing that Bucky would still not come visit him, convinced Steve to bring him to Bucky instead. 
> 
> Rhodey will be starting at MIT in another year, Bruce and Pepper keep in touch, though they're going to separate schools. The others aren't mentioned, though if I ever write more to this story, they'll be back.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me throughout this story! I was starting to worry I'd never get finished!


End file.
